Saturday Night when your can cast
everything aside, forget the seriousness of life and be natural, do what you
want to do with no consideration to the others. Here we have a naked chicken;
somewhere in his short life he even lost his head. I might cook a roast chicken
for the evening meal on Saturday evening, accompanied with a light green salad
and potato chips. The chicken is usually spiced up a bit with some paprika and
the Swiss national seasoning known as Aromat, just to complete the meal.
What could be so special on Saturday night for a golden oldie like me? Sometimes I have to look at the calendar to see what day it is, my week-ends no longer being encircled with a red felt pen, showing the day of freedom for the working class. I still belong to the working class, as my relationship to the British monarchy seemed to have become misplaced over the years, but I am no longer employed. I am now registered as a senior citizen. My monthly wages are paid by the Swiss State with a little bit from the British State and I am now unprotected game. I can do what I want and when I want. Unfortunately my limbs are no longer supple enough for an evening at the dance hall and late night parties are a thing of the past. I fall asleep as soon as the clock strikes 11and my feet are now encased in sensible flat Adidas or felt slippers.
How can I celebrate my Saturday evening, take advantage of the enjoyments left for the end of the week? It all begins on Saturday morning, realising that today there is nothing special to clean or organise at home, it was all dealt with during the week. I begin the day with my breakfast accompanied by the computer with its details of what has been happening in my little corner of the cyberworld. I catch up with daily prompts from all over the world, although this is now a five minute job. It used to be a half hour job until they banned the Pingbacks. I know, I say no more, it would get on my nerves as well, always reading the same complaining drivel that I write.
Now to progress to the apartment: a quick clean through, removing the remainders of the night before and a visit to the shower. In the meanwhile Mr. Swiss has not been idle; he has caught up on his various computer events and is ready to depart into the wild world of last minute shopping coupled with a coffee in a local street café. Today he was not such a happy bunny when he arrived home, it was Easter Saturday. The shops were crowded with people hunting for food and he was under the impression that famine would soon break out. Actually I though the idea of Lent was to go hungry and remind yourself that food was not everything: something to do with 40 days and 40 nights.
After lunch we both had a golden oldie rest and now I am awake and ready to go, preparing myself for the Saturday evening. We decided to spare a life today as our offering for Easter, and I will not be roasting a chicken. It will be vegetarian as it is now the asparagus season and to celebrate I have 2 kilo of white asparagus and 1 kilo of green asparagus, coupled with a sauce hollandaise and garnished with smoked and natural ham. Oh the delights of the asparagus season!
The real debauchery begins in the evening: even if you on the wrong side of 60 you can still have fun. I indulge in a plate of ice cream covered with a generous coating of whipped cream and afterwards might follow it up with a glass of cola. As I am actually diabetic, this is a real treat, defying the lack of insulin in my luxury body. What a way to enjoy a Saturday evening, the peak of fun and high life. This is probably accompanied with a good book, or one of those never to be forgotten Bruce Willis/Tom Cruise films, although my film tastes usually go in the direction of vampires, ghosts and ghouls accompanied with a little bit of chain saw and hatchets. Of course, there is always a danger that I might fall asleep whilst the film is running.
After this exciting and exhausting evening of pleasure and letting my hair down (which is cropped to a few centimetres) I retire to bed, tired but happy. Oh, the Saturday evenings of a golden oldie are beyond comparison.
What could be so special on Saturday night for a golden oldie like me? Sometimes I have to look at the calendar to see what day it is, my week-ends no longer being encircled with a red felt pen, showing the day of freedom for the working class. I still belong to the working class, as my relationship to the British monarchy seemed to have become misplaced over the years, but I am no longer employed. I am now registered as a senior citizen. My monthly wages are paid by the Swiss State with a little bit from the British State and I am now unprotected game. I can do what I want and when I want. Unfortunately my limbs are no longer supple enough for an evening at the dance hall and late night parties are a thing of the past. I fall asleep as soon as the clock strikes 11and my feet are now encased in sensible flat Adidas or felt slippers.
How can I celebrate my Saturday evening, take advantage of the enjoyments left for the end of the week? It all begins on Saturday morning, realising that today there is nothing special to clean or organise at home, it was all dealt with during the week. I begin the day with my breakfast accompanied by the computer with its details of what has been happening in my little corner of the cyberworld. I catch up with daily prompts from all over the world, although this is now a five minute job. It used to be a half hour job until they banned the Pingbacks. I know, I say no more, it would get on my nerves as well, always reading the same complaining drivel that I write.
Now to progress to the apartment: a quick clean through, removing the remainders of the night before and a visit to the shower. In the meanwhile Mr. Swiss has not been idle; he has caught up on his various computer events and is ready to depart into the wild world of last minute shopping coupled with a coffee in a local street café. Today he was not such a happy bunny when he arrived home, it was Easter Saturday. The shops were crowded with people hunting for food and he was under the impression that famine would soon break out. Actually I though the idea of Lent was to go hungry and remind yourself that food was not everything: something to do with 40 days and 40 nights.
After lunch we both had a golden oldie rest and now I am awake and ready to go, preparing myself for the Saturday evening. We decided to spare a life today as our offering for Easter, and I will not be roasting a chicken. It will be vegetarian as it is now the asparagus season and to celebrate I have 2 kilo of white asparagus and 1 kilo of green asparagus, coupled with a sauce hollandaise and garnished with smoked and natural ham. Oh the delights of the asparagus season!
The real debauchery begins in the evening: even if you on the wrong side of 60 you can still have fun. I indulge in a plate of ice cream covered with a generous coating of whipped cream and afterwards might follow it up with a glass of cola. As I am actually diabetic, this is a real treat, defying the lack of insulin in my luxury body. What a way to enjoy a Saturday evening, the peak of fun and high life. This is probably accompanied with a good book, or one of those never to be forgotten Bruce Willis/Tom Cruise films, although my film tastes usually go in the direction of vampires, ghosts and ghouls accompanied with a little bit of chain saw and hatchets. Of course, there is always a danger that I might fall asleep whilst the film is running.
After this exciting and exhausting evening of pleasure and letting my hair down (which is cropped to a few centimetres) I retire to bed, tired but happy. Oh, the Saturday evenings of a golden oldie are beyond comparison.
I have a Saturday evening routine that I've followed for quite some time. A pizza & a cold beer, while watching a movie on DVD, then later the highlights of the day's English Premiership football matches on TV.
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