tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post1826752902082083603..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: Milking the Weekend Ken Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-40095741153427114832013-01-21T13:54:38.942+00:002013-01-21T13:54:38.942+00:00So enjoyed reading this, Ken. Weekends ARE preciou...So enjoyed reading this, Ken. Weekends ARE precious but can also be a part of a totally fulfilling week.<br />I had two long-term jobs and a busy social life when I last lived in London. I treasured the weekends but by the time Sunday bedtime came around I was looking forward to the working week. Of course ... I also had one or two other howlingly awful jobs that used to fill me with the screaming ab-dabs on Sunday nights but as time passes it's the good jobs that I remember rather than the awful ones.<br />I thought the analogy about chocolate was superb - on so very many levels. Priorities change as we get older. I thought 50 would be horrendous but it's not and neither is 56! (Although once I turned 50, it did seem - and still does - that years only only 6 months in length rather than 12!).<br />These days I work from home and there is no clear distinction between the working week and the weekend. So many people say to me how lucky they think I am. I am not lucky at all. I feel an enormous sense of loss and miss the contact with real life human beings to a very great degree. That said, I am very rarely at a loss for things to do and I am at my happiest when everyone's at home and my son has a crowd of friends here.<br />We evolve. We can deny that evolution or grasp it with both hands and make the most of every single last bit of flavour from that particular square of chocolate.<br />As ever, your blog posts always give me a chance to think. This one has too. I thank you for that! <br />Karen Redmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18368078023802765569noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-80715119796427407682013-01-20T20:12:43.496+00:002013-01-20T20:12:43.496+00:00Nicely and concisely put.
Of course, the ideal wo...Nicely and concisely put.<br /><br />Of course, the ideal would be to convince my boss of the chocolate technique. If I just do a very small amount of work but he ensures that he squeezes every last bit of enjoyment and value out of it...<br /><br />That's never going to float, is it?Juleshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10282029770260743079noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-67525544393883494732013-01-20T12:53:32.813+00:002013-01-20T12:53:32.813+00:00Downton fans here too, Jim, although I fear the he...Downton fans here too, Jim, although I fear the heyday is gone. That 'what's a weekend' line made me laugh out loud at the time. :)<br /><br />The 'one chip' story illustrates my point rather well. Thanks. Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-91583131018368388202013-01-20T12:25:13.348+00:002013-01-20T12:25:13.348+00:00An odd memory from my childhood, one that’s not re...An odd memory from my childhood, one that’s not really attached to anything (I’m not really sure where it took place or how old I was) but it’s stuck: I had a bag of chips—real chippie chips, wrapped in newspaper the way chips ought to be—and my dad asked for one just for a taste. (Vass ees this 'taste' thing?) I remember at the time not understanding this—how can one possibly only eat a single chip?—but, with some reluctance I should add, I let him have one which he relished and somehow managed to restrain himself from looking for a second and then a third. <br /><br />It took me a long time to realise that you didn’t need to eat a whole bar of chocolate, that you could stop when you’d had enough, that the ‘point of enough’ could actually arrive before the end of the bar of chocolate did. I have to watch what I eat nowadays. I’m nowhere near as good as you. I do not jog—not sure my knees could stand it—and, if I can help it, I rarely leave the flat (today’s been the first day I’ve been out in over a week and only because I had to post a letter and wanted to get a loaf in case the snow hits the west coast too); I’m full of good intentions but exercise has always seemed to me such a waste of time. It’s a mindset but one I struggle with. Mindsets can be changed though: I no longer take milk or sugar (or caffeine) in my coffee—I know, what’s the point?—and I only have one portion of chocolate a day, the equivalent of a dozen Maltesers , at 6:30 when we stop for the day and sit down to watch TV but getting dressed and going out in the cold or the heat (the temperature’s never perfect) feels like so much effort and it’s never just a half-hour; there’s the time getting ready, making sure I’ve peed, making sure I don’t look like a tube and then when I get back there’s the changing and the obligatory cup of coffee to unwind before I’m fit for anything. <br /><br />When I was younger I could switch from one thing to another but now I need to ease myself into things and my day’s just slip from under me. I’ve no idea where they go. Carrie’s been in the States not for just over a week and it feels like she left a couple of days ago and what have I done with all my free time? One of many fabulous one-liners from The Dowager Countess of Grantham (yes, we’re <i>Downton Abbey</i> fans) is: “What’s a weekend?” I’m afraid that’s very much how I feel these days. My daily routine varies not a jot at the weekend—most of the time I couldn’t tell you what the day is—but I do remember what it was like when I worked and, to be honest, as I worked so much from home the sad fact was that my weekends for years and years were just opportunities to catch up; holidays were set aside for projects like writing databases. And yet the writing got done and—to my eternal embarrassment—more than I’ve done in the last six years.<br /><br>Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.com