Saturday nights alright for baking

It is Saturday night, and I am being boring and happy in equal measure.

Outside, I can hear people walking down the hill toward the centre of town for a night out. A group of women clack past in their heels, stiletto hitting the pavement just before the flat of their shoes, creating the sound of a flock of little ponies, trotting by. The fact that one of them has a whinny for a laugh does help dispel this at all. A few minutes later, a group of men, making variations on a theme of grunting, thud happily down the same way. Perhaps some of them will stumble back up again in pairs, later. That would be nice and Saturday nightish for them. I wish them luck.

Meanwhile, I am baking. It is Saturday night, My Beloved is having a boring work-related dinner in London (boring for me, not, of course, for him. Which is why it is good that he is there, rather than me. I would just be sitting there going No, sorry, youve lost me, what? Sciencey-Technological whatnow? No, youre just making noises now, arent you, those arent even proper words anymore, which is the main reason I dont go to these kinds of dinners.). My Brighton friends seem to be in all manner of places this weekend, and I am trying not to let myself do any work until tomorrow.

Therefore, this Saturday Night, I am passing the time doing the following rock and roll activities.

a) I am footling about on the pooter, watching terrible television, and writing a blog post. This one. Hello.

2) I am making a Bakewell Tart. I know I used to say that I couldnt cook to save my life, but I have been learning since. More on that another time. Not more of the bakewell tart another time, though, I shouldnt think. There probably wont be any left.

3) Rifling through old boxes, trying to sort photos from important things from meaningful memorabilia from pieces of rubbish I really dont need to keep hold of any more. The less we keep hold of, from now on, frankly, the better. There is nothing sentimental or interesting to future generations about old meeting notes from a job I did in 2001. Im instituting a hard-line policy in unnecessary clutter. Moving house yearly – among other things – will do this to you.

4) As part of this, reading through some notebooks and finding some truly needy/heartbroken drafts of letters of my just-past-teenage self. If I had a time machine right now, I would go back a dozen years or so and slap my younger self silly. I do realise this would be a waste of a time machine, but there we have it.

f) Running out to get the washing in when I realised it started raining. Yep: SATURDAY NIGHT!!! WOOOO! I realise that I could actually have used the time machine for that as well, actually.

and finally) Going to bed early.

I know, right? Its thrilling stuff. I hope you have all managed to remain in your seats with all your bodily functions in hand.

And yet, if I HAD a time machine (which I dont, thank fuck, because – as should be very clear to everyone right now – Id only waste it if I had) I would not go back and choose anything different to do with my Saturday Night.

The baking, the tidying, the putting things away, and the being on my own, spending time just as I please? Perfect, as far as Im concerned. I have always always liked to spend Saturday nights this way, ever since ever.

I have a good explanation for this (at least since teenagehood) but Im going to be annoying and save it for another post.

Perhaps, one day, when I have a time machine, I can come back and change that fact, if it seems, in retrospect, to have been a bad idea. I can climb in my time machine, set the controls for now, and add that explanation to this post, deleting the extraneous post on the topic that I would have added/will add a few days later/from now.

Now that: THATS A great use for a time machine, right?

None of that killing Hitler stuff. Lets just sort out the important stuff. Like getting the washing in earlier, and reflecting retroactive changes of mind in the world of personal blogging. Brilliant. Thats what technology is for.

See? Thats why I dont go to dinners with clever sciency-technologists. It doesnt go well at ALL.

Aaaaaaaand now I am tired and wittering. Thats because Ive failed on point viii) Going to Bed Early.

Now, if only I had a time machine…