A weekend to recharge (kind of).

Last week I had a busy/exciting/exhausting week at work so I decided that what I really needed was a weekend recharging at home sweet home. I was missing my parents, brother and dog (in no particular order, and not forgetting the fridge full of food/wine on tap), so I hopped on the train and made my way across the Pennines to good ole’ Yorkshire.

I was so glad I did. It was nice to spend some time with the rents and laze around the garden. I walked my wee old pooch in Pudsey park with my mum — a park I fondly remember from the time my brother and I took our brand new shiny electric scooters out for a whiz. Maisie (the dog), is getting on a bit now, 14 years old actually which is what, 98 in doggy years?! She walks a lot slower than she used to and gets up to some rather comical senile behavior. Here she is looking grey but rather content…

Ok, so I didn’t quite spend the full weekend recharging — I was persuaded (rather easily) to go out on the Saturday but in my defense, it was for a friends birthday and as the saying goes, it would have been rude not to. The night, as usual, involved copious amounts of alcohol and dancing, and when we finally tired of singing along to various old bangers (Mr Brightside, Not 19 Forever kind of vibes..) we raced to the nearest takeout to get our order of cheesy chips and pizza — so, so very predictable.

With all elegance and grace lost at this point, we thought it best to order an Uber and make our way home. I stopped the taxi a little too late and ended up getting dropped off a few doors up which is conveniently where my grandma lives. I noticed that her living room lamp was on and when I peeked through the blind, I found her awake and sat in the chair reading. I of course took this as a perfect opportunity to enjoy a good natter and a post night out cup of tea. I can’t imagine who she thought was knocking on her door at 4am although, I am not the first grandchild to call round at this unearthly hour — the perils of living so close to us I suppose. I didn’t remember what we had spoken about until she visited the next day and suggested I research creative writing classes in Manchester — it flooded back to me then, I had told her about my new blogging hobby and we had shared some enthusiasm for ‘how great it is to create!’ (quite embarrassing when you consider that this is merely my second blog post).

On Sunday we pottered around visiting friends and family before my mum kindly drove me back to Manchester — last nights vodka had made me fearful of the train journey ahead and she took great pity (for the umpteenth time). I am living in an um well, shall we say, interesting (i.e. unloved and ignored by the landlord for the past 20 years) house which has quite a large back garden but one that has been neglected for god knows how long and us such, when we first moved in, it resembled that of a jungle — a jungle littered with empty cans of Red Stripe and ends of cigarettes. Don’t worry, I’m straight out of there in October as soon as the tenancy is up, no more student-esque digs for me.

The overgrown and chaotic garden isn’t all as bad as I make out. I’ve actually quite enjoyed being let loose with the giant clippers, cutting down every tree/branch/weed in sight and now I’m quite proud that I’ve managed to make a space that looks semi-respectable (although I’m sure my parents will say it is mostly their work and not mine). Plenty of room for sunbathing and boozy bbqs. It also meant I had the perfect excuse for a mini bonfire — another one of my great loves in life. (But not in the dangerous arsonist kind of way, I promise. Who doesn’t love making a great fire?).

And then Monday came…the dreaded Monday. It actually wasn’t all that bad. After my epitome over the weekend that I must must must cater to the more creative side of my personality, I’ve promised myself that I will start reading again. I love reading, but it’s something I don’t do nearly enough of. Except for the 5/6 books I cram into a summer holiday, I tend to start books only for life to get in the way. Not this time. With the sun blazing outside, I grabbed a brief lunch break and pottered over to St Anne’s Square. As I read, a nearby busker provided the perfect background track of easy listening — Norah Jones, KT Tunstall, that type of shiz. Not my usual choice of track but it made for the perfect accompaniment that day.

I may be running the risk of sounding a tad too cheesy and poetic, but I really did have the most enjoyable few days. Life can get so busy sometimes and we can forget that it’s the little things in life that can bring most pleasure. That cup of tea and a natter, that bonfire in the back garden, that book in the sunshine…