Ah, most dependable Saturday!

Last week was a mean reds kind of a week (that's a Holly Golightly phrase if I've lost you). And the least said the better, really, as it fell into the most depressingly average mould of emotional turmoil.

Basically I got on my rat wheel on Monday, and ran until my little rat legs could carry me no more on Friday night.

But then came sunny Saturday to heal all wounds, as Saturdays inevitably do. If Saturday could be personified, she'd be warm, loving, forgiving, undemanding and dependable. Saturday is everything I'd like to be as a person. But I think in all honesty she's probably everything I'm not.

Anyway, it was a languid sort of a day. A walk to the park and to get takeaway coffees with Dr Spruce (the photo documents her latest activity, which is lurking in the native grasses of our local roof garden and diving through the undergrowth for her football). A (free!) two course meal with a (free!) bottle of Sauv Blanc with C at the very pleasant Tilbury Hotel, as thanks for hosting my birthday drinks there (no, really, it was MY pleasure!).

Then a walk to the ever interesting Surry Hills to a fabulous shop called Scandinavium, for some escapism. I'm still plotting a grand trip to Scandinavia and London, but I'm increasingly unsure it'll happen financially this year. If it doesn't, C and I have agreed that we'll replace it with an NZ ski trip with his work mates (C's alternative), and a trip to Melbourne (my alternative), as I will need a cosmopolitan experience if I'm forced to sacrifice my Euro Trash fantasies.

Surry Hills is also where I took the "Agile" photo, of someone's ingenius means of privacy screening their letter slot.

We walked home through Woolloomooloo, where C and I partook of an ale at a seedy old wharfies pub (complete with seedy old wharfies with names like FleaBag, Micko and Scruffy), and Dr Spruce drank from a cast iron bucket and was adored by the locals. She was granted regular status in the first few minutes (C and I were tolerated because we were friends of hers), and she spread herself out to cover the entire footpath so everyone could stop en route and rub her belly.

A cornucopia of leftover takeaways from the long week await for dinner, an invisible singer is serenading us through our window, and thus the wounds of the week have heeled.

I hope all your Saturdays were similarly rewarding.