Mud

Mud

What is a weekend?

We return home from work to work. Back to the house, back to the family, back to cat, back to the dog, the washing, the garden.

Hobbies, chores and food combine in blur of Dad’s taxi zipping round childrens’ parties, the hum of the washing machine,  slow plumes of breath reaching out from parents stood by the football fields, and the fizz and click of a can.

Friday’s ritual – Curry, Netflix, Beer, Chocolate.

Saturday’s project: It’s dark, still waiting for these posts to set, should have started this in the morning, but didn’t want to miss his football game.

Sunday’s lunch: a walk was planned for afters, but tea, cake and Mario Kart ambushed us on the way out of the door.

Best-laid plans, like the most-packed weekends, seldom seem to run in straight lines. At the tired close of this short service, we drift back to our pillows like weary punters from a summer festival. Like these revelers, we know Monday is coming, but we’d swap the office for mud all over again if we could.

Foundations in the mud, we emerge from the chaos of the weekend stronger for the week, connected to the people we work for, ready to enjoy the work ahead.

The best of brands, the weekend remains the label of choice for grounding the family unit.

Whatever names are in your fridge, we all drink deep at the weekend.

 

 

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