When I was at work, days were defined by certain regular weekly event and I do find that's still the case but perhaps in a slightly less marked way.
Depending on how you viewed your job, you either detested or looked forward to Mondays as the start of the working week. I have to say I had periods when I hated weekends and looked forward to returning to work on Mondays. I also had periods when I loved the weekend and didn't look forward to Monday at all.
My views were rather coloured by the fact that for many years I was on call 24x7 as a journalist and then as a police employee. As a sports editor I invariably worked Saturdays, reporting on football. As a reporter there was a lot of night work as well covering council meetings and other events.
Very few of these stick in my memory now as they all seem to bind into one mass or maybe that should be mess. I do remember a meeting of Beccles Road Safety Group where they discussed the content of an open event they were holding for over an hour and spent 20 minutes discussing how many jelly beans they should put in a jar for a guess the number of beans in a jar competition. This included discussing the size of the jar, the colour of the beans, the size of the beans and the number to be included. I think that's the most bored I have ever been at a meeting although many others have run it close.
But as I've said, days still have some kind of form to them. On Monday I usually go out for a walk and breakfast with Cousin Belinda. One Monday evening a month I go to the Hethersett Parish Council meeting. Two Tuesdays a month brings our Forget Me Not Cafe which for me involves putting out and putting away tables and chairs. Wednesday might be the Old Farts lunch or coffee with a friend. Thursday is tennis, although I've had to stop playing at the moment through a heel injury. Thursday afternoon until recently might be a meeting of the Norfolk Family History Trustees or a Skype call with our friends in America and Thursday evening is often our writers group. Friday is often lunch with a friend and Saturday and Sunday can be all kinds of things from football and cricket to shopping in Norwich or going on a bus trip somewhere and then it's Monday and it all starts again.
In the time when I'm not doing the above I have two publications to put together, our book on Le Paradis Massacre to work on, other meetings to attend, gardening to do and places to visit. And of course there's my daily blog to write for you lovely people and also my daily diary entry.
Somehow I still manage to get plenty of sleep but days are still largely defined by what's happening. Many people claim that when they retire every day is the same and they often don't know what day of the week it is. I don't find this a problem. I know jolly well that tomorrow is Thursday!
I can't see too much in my life changing with all the things mentioned stretching into next year although I have recently dropped a couple of things that I just couldn't fit in however hard I tried.
Don't you just love it when you know somebody being interviewed isn't quite telling the truth or in the case of politicians is definitely not telling the truth? Leading jockey and all round legend Frankie Dettori is retiring from racing in the UK as he's getting on in years and feels by continuing he will just be repeating what's gone before (IE winning horse races). But Frankie isn't exactly hanging up his whip. No he's off to race in California because he needs a new challenge and still feels he has a lot to give the sport. Of course he didn't mention what was probably the real reason for going Stateside - the shed loads of money that will be coming his way.
Talking of shed loads of money. Former cricketer Andrew Freddy Flintoff got injured in a crash whilst recording an episode of Top Gear. That's the former sensible BBC motoring programme that turned into a ridiculously dangerous show of the presenters doing more and more outrageous stunts in the name of entertainment. Now we hear that Flintoff is being awarded £9 million as compensation for injuries sustained. The money will come from some arm of the BBC that doesn't take its money from licence fees, we are told. I still feel it obscene. Perhaps Flintoff might like to finance a few food banks.
Yesterday I had my COVID jab in Norwich. It was an event rather than an injection. I walked into the Castle Mall which is now known as the Castle Quarter and booked in at my allotted time. A lady on our bus heard us talking about it and gave us a warning.
"Excuse me for listening in but are you going to have your COVID jab," she said.
"Blimey people listen into our conversation as well as me," I thought not quite getting the grammar correct.
"I went during the week and had to wait threequarters of an hour. There was a long queue," she said.
So armed with enough reading material for a lengthy wait I arranged to meet the other threequarters outside the mall. As it's on a quarter that would make her a whole (you might have to think about that one).
But by the time I got there she had already been in. So I was instructed to see another lady who told me to go and see Simon who turned out to be Colin.
He had a badge on stating "Colin" which I thought was a giveaway.
"Hello I'm Colin and not Simon," he said.
"I want to have my jab from Simon," I replied.
Sometimes my humour is just too off the wall and I end up having to explain things.
"There's a Simon over there but you would have to wait", he replied.
I then explained that I wasn't bothered whether Colin, Simon, Tom, Dick, Harry, Dave or Rodney (a nod there to Only Fools and Horses) stuck the needle in my arm as long as somebody did.
But Simon (sorry Colin) wanted to chat. We ran through all the reasons that would preclude me from having the jab which included taking aspirin or blood thinners or having a steak dinner in the last 72 hours. I made the last one up but you get the idea.
"Did you drive here?" He inquired.
"No we came on the bus."
He then went through the vaccine they were going to use whilst I thought "just put the needle in my arm." There are times for small talk and this wasn't one of them although of course it's always nice to be pleasant.
There were a few more bits and pieces to run through before I got the jab.
"What are you doing with the rest of the day?" Simon (Colin) inquired.
"Going for a coffee probably. I don't suppose I need to ask you what you'll be doing other than sticking needles in people's arms."
"Well I'll be here until four and then it will take me over an hour to get home and then I've jobs to do. Tomorrow is my day off and I have loads of jobs to do."
"By the way did I ask you whether you will be driving?"
I finally got my shot in the arm. Simon (Colin) then held some cotton wool to the entry point, announced there was no sign of any blood but would I like to have the cotton wool taped to the area.
"It might make it a little difficult to get it off," he added. I declined.
"Would you like a sticker," he inquired?
"What do you think I am, a four year old" is what I felt like saying but somehow it came out as: "oh yes please." I left proudly wearing my small but perfectly formed sticker proclaiming:
"I have had my COVID jab."
After that we had an interesting couple of hours in Norwich which I will tell you about tomorrow.