On Saturday night I had that dream where you’re late for work and time ticks away without you and whatever you do you just can’t get to where you should be. I once had an anxiety dream when I was a postman that I had taken a bag off someone for payment (a fairly common practice in those days – “I’ve got to be somewhere, I’ll give you a tenner to deliver a bag”) on a Saturday. Saturday is a quiet day for a postman so you’re home by ten o’clock, and it was unusual for me to do overtime, official or cash-in-hand, as I would be in a hurry myself to go and collect my daughter. In my dream it is late at night and all of my postal colleagues are watching and laughing from a pub window as I struggled to find my way round an unfamiliar route. I woke up in a panic this morning and woke Mandi who reassured me that it was Bank Holiday Monday, but I hadn’t really woken up I had done that thing where you think you have woken up from a dream but you are still dreaming. Waking up properly I realised it was Sunday so I had two days remaining of the weekend, what a beautiful thing to have happen to you. The bonus of a Bank Holiday Monday is that someone who doesn’t drink a lot can go to a family barbeque on a Sunday afternoon and drink pretty much constantly for around six hours with no real consequence as there’s no work on Monday.

That is what happened, Mandi and I went to my cousin (not my real cousin) Pat’s house, a building that I don’t think I have ever left in a sober state. I wasn’t rolling around pissed or anything, just that I had consumed far more than I would usually in one sitting, and it didn’t help that I was drinking lager because my punishment was a dull chemical headache this morning. What I needed was one of those Bank Holiday Mondays when you stay in bed until you feel better. Duvet day wasn’t an option though as I had to take Jack for a walk when I woke up (around half nine) as today we had guests. My brother Jack (author of Whatever Happened to Nathan McKenzie no less) drove down to Nottingham with my sister Mary and her three children, (I say children, my oldest nephew is eighteen) for a visit. With it being a four day weekend we hadn’t done a lot of shopping but we had enough of what we needed to pull together a nice afternoon tea for everyone. I had forgotten what mess children make with food; Harrison is six and Arthur is one and they both seem to be able to eat sandwiches from the inside out. Jack (dog) behaved himself once he had got used to having new people in his house and only let himself down with a bit of leg shagging. This is why I find it important to differentiate between the two Jacks, because my younger brother is way past his leg shagging phase.

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