My Saturday, filled with Saturday things

Does Life get much better than this? I think not.

I crawled out of bed for my hair appointment, which I stupidly booked for before mid-day. Of course I was late for it. That's really no surprise. I rang and said I was parking (when I was parking). Before I went I knew I wanted to grow my hair again and to have a darker colour put on. I have semi-permanent colours to hide the masses and masses of grey. Usually, it's a chocolatey-brown with red tones. This time I've gone for a very dark violet. Because my hair is so dark, the violet doesn't show up much, except in the light. I love it. My adored hairdresser, who I loves to bits, even if he is straight and very married, prefers short hair. I make him sigh a lot. I grow it long and then will come in out of the blue and say 'I want it short', he cuts it short and then 6 months later I say 'I'm growing it out'. He excelled himself today. I love my short cut. I've been staring into shop windows all day.

There were the things that I needed to buy: pens. But then I went into the Department Store where I used to work. All my favourite girls were working. What should have taken 5 mins, took half an hour. Of course I need new lip gloss. I mean, just because I've got like, a thousand kicking about in drawers, boxes and bags, doesn't mean I could live without this new lipgloss. And of course, with another purchase, I could get my free gift. My ability to invoke the power of no, needs work. I know this. But I'm wearing the lip gloss now and of course it looks fabulous. And my free gift includes a fabulous slut red lipstick. I'll wear it to work next week and shock the hell out of people.

Duly laden, of course it was lunchtime (for normal people, for me, breakfast), so I went along to Frank's Bar, ordered lunch - rump steak, sauteed potatoes, roasted red peppers and aioli and a cup of earl grey tea. Outside in their patio area, I'm having a puff, admiring my hair cut and colour and there are people waving at me from inside. Some gesticulation later, they all settle down at my table. I go in and have a lovely socialise. We'd been saying 'yes, we really must meet up'. And there they all are.

I rolled myself out after eating. I was good, you'll be pleased to note. I did not get the carrot cupcake topped with cream cheese to go (no, I didn't eat it in either). I wanted to get some workout pants. Primark used to be the place to get cheap clothes, cheaply. The Norwich shop always looks like a jumble sale, clothes strewn everywhere. But if you ignore that and the Jeremy Kyle rejects, you used to be able to get nice enough clothes for not a huge amount of money. Nowadays, their clothes are cheap and nasty and you have to pay for the pleasure. I was feeling optimistic enough to risk it, to see if I could find some appropriate work-out gear. I went in, went half way down the main aisle, did an about turn and went out again. Briskly. Ugh.

I hit Chapelfield shopping centre. Of course, as it's Valentine's Day on Monday, I need more chocolate in the house. Don't ask. Perhaps I'm pre-menstrual. I wade through the hordes of panic-stricken men grab my goodies and make a run for it. I stop in the sports goods shop, buy 5 pairs of workout trousers, a pair of lounge trousers, a pack of sports socks and some ankle weights. My osteopath has given me some exercises to build the muscles around my knee. Yes, I know I could have made do with a shopping bag and a tin of beans. At least, I'll have proper exercise stuff gathering dust. I'm a classy lady, you wouldn't expect anything less from me.

On the way home, I called in for a coffee with Gee. We put the world to rights, exchanged confidential gossip. I have no idea why people trust me with their secrets. I mean, really. Don't they know me well enough to know what a daft idea it is? Start off a conversation with 'Don't tell anyone but...' I'm there on speed dial, ready to tell everyone else. I over-share about everything. And honey, if you had a drunken night with Mr Wrong, ended up at a chemist looking for the morning after pill, feeling more than a little sheepish, really don't tell me. I look at this inability to keep a secret as a public service. After all, if you go around with a face like a wet-weekend, if everyone knows why, there's no need to explain why you're upset/surprised that he didn't call.

Oh shit. By the way, that was told to me in confidence. Please don't tell anyone I told you.

Ah, I didn't tell you. I'm having my patio and fence seen to. It's all terribly exciting here. At the FS place of work, they have lists of tradespeople. Everyone from plumbers, painter & decorators, electricians to curtain makers. Because they're part of a network, they have to maintain a good quality of work. Through them, I found a plumber who called and turned up. Anyway, I asked about having my patio re-laid. Walking sober on my patio feels like you're walking on the deck of a ship at sea in a storm. It's worse if you've had a couple of alcoholic beverages. Anyway, this guy comes along, assesses the job, tells me how he's going to do it and when I can expect the quote to land on my doorstep. I like his attitude and ask if he does fences. Does he do fences? Is the Pope a Catholic Nazi? Do bears shit in the woods? I ask does he replace knackered garden gates? Does he replace garden gates...you get the picture.

Part One was achieved during Thursday. He pressure washed my patio. Ladies and gentlemen, I didn't know my paving slabs were pale yellow. It's a bit bright out there now. Yesterday, my garden mysteriously acquired concrete posts and fence panels. It's all a bit exciting. When I next see him, I'm going to push the boat out and ask him if he paints house exteriors...