The opening and closing of banks rarely impinges on my line of sight these days, but I do like bank holidays – those rare Mondays that are happily out of step with the passing of time and thereby unite us in a communal, civic kind of a way. Oh, except of course for our parking wardens, who go about wrongfooting anyone who assumes Sunday rules still apply. Humph.But, parking wardens and their awkward rules apart, for those of us who struggle to find even a chink of time between the opposing tugs of flighty weekends and demanding weeks, here – at last – is a day that is mercifully free of the usual strains and agendas. And what greater satisfaction on a day such as this than to forgo ambition and any remotely long-lasting achievement, and turn instead to righting the creeping imbalance that is waiting to topple us right here at home.
Which means, of course, a trip to Ham Lane with a car full of cardboard followed by a trip to Waitrose to restock. Just briefly everything is right with the world. It’s catharsis and satiation all at once. And it’s both domestic duty and civic duty fulfilled. Before the spread starts again with not a bank holiday in sight.
No comments:
Post a Comment