busy doing nothing

The bank holiday weekend is almost upon us.
Hurrah I hear you shout.
There’s something about a bank holiday that has me dancing round the office like a loon. The three day weekend. A chance to relax and regroup and recharge my batteries; 3 days worth of lie-ins and chilled out evenings and reading.
I imagine myself as a lady of leisure when I think about a bank holiday. I imagine in the days preceding it that this long weekend is going to change my life for a while and I shall be for it’s duration one of those people that smiles from morning til evening, that is never hurried or frazzled, that lunches with friends and then goes home to a spotlessly clean house and lies in a hammock reading high brow literature (don’t ask me how my house becomes spotless because at no point in this fantasy do I see myself doing the chores to make it so. The key word here is fantasy. Nobody - unless you have some kind of fetish and this is not that kind of blog – cleans in a fantasy. Clean in this context is merely an adjective not a verb. I also don’t have a hammock*. Or a garden.)
The problem is, that as is often the case, my fantasy remains just so. Let’s use this weekend as an example. Already I am excited at the prospect of three days of no work; 3 days of nothing – the fantasy. Already I have dinner plans (amazing cheap tapas at the little bar round the corner from our house. I shall be wearing loose fitting clothing. Yum) with friends for Friday; dinner plans (Chinese at the house of some other friends) for Saturday; coffee and park plans with family for Sunday and coffee, shopping and cinema plans for Sunday – the reality, a reality which leaves little to no time for relaxation or the reading of high brow literature (which by the way I don’t actually own) and will no doubt leave me falling asleep at my desk on Tuesday. That’s not to say I won’t have a lovely time, I know that I will. I am sleepily excited about all of it and wouldn’t change a single second. I just wish sometimes that I could just have three days where all I had to do was read in a hammock.
*My friend Emma has a hammock. Perhaps I should ask her to spend the weekend reading in it and live vicariously through her.