In Spanish an extra holiday is called a fiesta, meaning Feast Day. It used to be so over here but nowadays they are very prosaically called Bank Holidays. We tend to think of Mediaeval times as being filled with drudgery but they had many more holidays than we do. Mind you, those who can afford it take lots of mini-breaks; I guess many people go away five or six times a year instead of taking a summer holiday. When I was a child we were very fortunate as my grandparents lived on the Sussex coast so we spent a fortnight there every summer as well as a week somewhere else. These were not usually exotic; we went to York and the West Country, though one year we had a week self-catering in Amsterdam. That was great. I wonder how much joy people get from going away so often; I remember every detail of that holiday and it stands out in my memory. Mind you, it’s very dull here in the Midlands so I wouldn’t mind being somewhere else right now – like Scotland for instance, where it’s almost certainly dull and wet too…
We didn’t do anything particularly wonderful for our Bank Holiday weekend; we had a couple of viewings on Saturday so I went to sit in the park for a while, then in the afternoon there was a poetry gig at the Moonface which was nice although the audience was small. On Sunday I was very tired and basically spent the afternoon falling asleep in front of Netflix; the light has been waking me up every morning around five and then I don’t get back to sleep. I’ve got a sleep mask but OH reckons the light has an effect on the pineal gland and it’s a bit harder to put a mask on that. Yesterday we went for a walk towards the Outwoods, which was nice – and in the afternoon we sorted some things out and I did some freecycling. So that was my weekend. We had some encouraging feedback from the viewing so we’ll wait and see if they make an offer. And that’s us up to date.
Kirk out
Sarada Gray 