Pottering

After spending what seems like weeks moving house we finally have a free weekend; well in theory at least.


I had approached this minor miracle in our social life with a certain amount of anticipation until my wife uttered the “P” word in reference to it.


I am not sure if this happens in other households but in mine it seems an all too frequent occurrence and so I have come to dislike the word “pottering”.


I dared to ask my wife for a definition so that I could attempt to gain back some control of my promised free weekend.


Apparently, by the list she reeled off, it consists of doing the things around the house that have built up over time.


Correct me if I am wrong but that just sounds like work and it seems to be at odds with the very notion of having a relaxing weekend.


I mean, anything that has the potential to produce a list or require the use of a screwdriver must be categorised as graft in my book.


My wife, however, approaches this possibility with an undue amount of glee; it seems that she relishes the opportunity of pottering.


I tried to tie her down to a time frame for the proposed time that we should potter on Saturday and she gave non-committal answers like ‘We shall see’ and ‘It depends’.


Needless to say I don’t feel comforted by this; I could probably take it for a couple of hours but after that it would just become a chore.


I dared to ask whether I needed to clock in to planet pottering before we start but my words were lost on Mrs M who had set off to the basement with a dustpan and a giant sized list of her favourite jobs.


It seems right to me that if I am going to be forced to engage in work, by any other name, then I need to have the same conditions as with my weekly employment.


Health & Safety; I am sure that I need ladder training before attempting do anything above head height. I know that I need knife training before opening all the boxes of stuff left around after the house move. Surely I need manual handling training before I move any object over 10kg.


I asked my bride whether we should wait until I had attended all said courses and the documentation was completed but she wasn’t interested in my plea.


She did, however, offer me a bottle of red and lunch at my favourite Portuguese restaurant if I agree to take part in her plans.


‘And if I don’t?’ I asked tentatively.


‘You will get your pottering P45’ she replied ‘and the promised wine and griddled chicken will be removed from your wage packet’.


As an employer Mrs M knows how to deal; a life of pottering it is. I wonder how many days holiday I get a year!

Credit Crunch

In these days of our credit being crunched we all have to make little sacrifices. I for example am committed to making sure that we consume all of the food in the house before we shop for more.

When I announced my plan to the female members of the family it was treated with a high degree of derision.

I don’t know what they are complaining about we did this every year when we went camping; its amazing how breakfast cereal can bulk out a curry on the last night of a holiday.

I searched through the kitchen and found several tins that seemed to have been in the cupboard for years; mackerel fillets, pears, luncheon meat, sweet corn, and kidney beans. I can’t remember the last time I bought sweet corn and yet there always seems to be a tin in the cupboard.

I have to admit that I couldn’t find a suitable recipe to include them all so we had an omelette made with the eggs that were seconds from their sell by date.

For dessert I offered them crushed ginger snap biscuits heated with butter, topped with ice cream and toffee sauce, which everyone agreed, proved a great success.

During my search I discovered a new taste sensation that the rest of the family were quick to turn their noses up at. It was a combination of two of my favourite tastes that, coincidently, the rest of the family cannot abide.

Liquorice pieces dipped in Marmite.

I accept that some of you will be immediately disgusted by such a thought. But there will be some, just a few, who will find the whole idea intriguing and will be rushing to the kitchen to test it out.

My wife, ever the wit, patted me on my extra sized tummy and questioned whether it was pregnancy cravings.

I have a friend who has admitted to also being conscious of the need to make savings in their weekly grocery bill. He has, however, upset his wife in the process.

Being a keen fisherman he knows the intricacies of finding the best bate for successful angling. He slipped up by admitting that although he has made the sacrifice of buying the cheapest sweet corn for the family cupboard he has continued to buy the premium brand for his favourite hobby.

It seems that saving money is important but we all need the opportunity of making a luxury decision now and again. In light of this I suggested that each family member had the chance to nominate a couple things that would not be sacrificed as part of our economy drive.

The list included such minor luxuries as coffee and breakfast cereal but there were a few items that the female members of clan Molineaux were agreed on: Tomato Sauce, Shampoo, and Tea bags.

As for me; I was happy to concede that although most value options were worth trying I was adamant that neither Marmite nor liquorice would be sacrificed. I have my standards!

Monday Blues

It is amazing how the day of the week can have an effect upon your state of mind. Often people speak of the ‘Monday Blues’ or ‘that Friday feeling’.

There are some, just a few, who seem to ride through the week without such a sense; either by being constantly happy or permanently miserable.

Mrs M is convinced that the Monday blues do not affect her; I am quick to point out that this may be due to her not working on this day with the result of merely transferring the feeling to Tuesday.

At this point in our conversation my bride changes the subject towards the jobs at home that she performs in order to prove that she does indeed work on a Monday.

The list was endless and I eventually had to concede, party because I knew I had crossed a line in suggesting that she does not work at the beginning of the week and partly because I was distracted by midweek football on the telly.

It is interesting that each day of the week was named after something significant but has now just become a descriptive word to help us to plan our lives.

So whether Thursday is recognition of the god Thor or Monday is an acknowledgement of the moon is irrelevant to our daily lives.

Perhaps we need to think again about what we call them in light of our effected mood.

Monday could be ‘moan day’ to give understanding to our depressed association with returning to work after the weekend. In a similar way Friday could be designated as an extra day off and be known as ‘free day’.

Altogether a more pleasing way of looking at it I think.

I recently visited France for a few days with work and had the pleasure of meeting some of our fellow Europeans. I had in mind the British preoccupation with feelings being linked to certain days.

I was pleased to note that they too seemed affected in a similar way. At the beginning of the week there was a general lack of motivation visible. By the Friday they were a lot more upbeat as the thought of weekend came in view.

I cannot claim that there is any connection but I did notice that lunchtimes contained more red wine after Thursday than is usual back at home. The only celebration of the weekend that we indulge in is a bacon butty on Friday morning.

Perhaps this is it; for the French they are merry due to wine and we are merry due to eating pig on bread.

On returning from the continent I asked my wife to comment and she concluded teo things: Only a man would wonder about such things and only a man would be excited by the thought of a bacon butty. O Contraire!