Weekends and windmills....and have I been here before?

Something strange seems to happen to me on certain Saturdays, and I'm not entirely sure why. To be exact, I'm talking about Saturdays that see me as a single girl again (i.e. my boy is with his father for the weekend and my Significant Other is away). My mind seems to operate like a windmill, adopting a familiar sequence but picking up different notions and thoughts every time....

I can only put this down to the fact that, due to the enforced solitude, I have time to go through my mental inbox. And what makes it more of a challenge is that I will also delve into the filing cabinets of my mind and pull out long-forgotten episodes which should have been archived by now.

Bear with me here as I steer you through the long and winding path that my brain took today; all will be come clear. Or clearer, at least. I hope.

0800 hours and I am still in bed (such bliss....), cup of tea and lap top fired up. Now I know that many will see the "lap top" bit as being anything but perfect, but being Ben-less gives me an opportunity to concentrate on semi-complex documents that have been e-mailed to me rather than scanning through them whilst playing "snap" at the same time. Then I recall how I spectacularly got the whole mothering thing very wrong yesterday when I dropped Ben off for school complete in school uniform (him that is, not me....even I'm not that remiss in the morning) only to find that as it is Children in Need day and all the other children are in jeans and trainers.

I stumble into his classroom and babble to the classroom assistants how stupid I am, etc, etc. They tell me not to worry, it's fine, but all I can see is my boys' dejected face all day wondering why all his friends look super-cool and he's in uniform....... I last a full half hour after dropping him off before I ring the school and ask them to let me know if he gets upset and I will drop some jeans and trainers in for him.

"Well would you like to do that anyway?" comes the response

"Oh yes, thank you- I think I will..." Yesterday was not my finest hour as a mother.

Back to today. 0818 hours and I text Significant Other; I miss him.

0828 and he calls; the day takes on a cosy glow. He hates me getting slushy like this, but you can't escape the truth. The day just got better.

0900 hours, I'm in the shower and about to launch Operation Housework. I take on this mission with much vigour because I now realise one simple and inescapable truth after some twenty-five years of cleaning, dusting, polishing, bleaching, washing and vacuuming:

The sooner you start, the sooner you finish and can therefore put the kettle on before watching Spooks on Sky Plus.

Rupert Penry-Jones, I am choked to discover, has been killed off in this series.

Seriously, what is wrong with the BBC??

Having said that, it is still great; we are fighting the Russians it appears this time. When did they become our arch enemies? I vow to start watching Newsnight more frequently. Maybe Sky Plus can help in this regard, assuming I don't sit and watch eighteen episodes back-to-back as I am prone to do with certain programmes.

1300 hours and it is time to shop.

Christmas shopping. It gets more onerous every year.

I recall emptying out my money box as a little girl and going with my Mum to buy soaps and bath salts for my aunties and socks and handkerchiefs for my uncles. I then smile to myself as I recall wrapping up a packet of Embassy No 1 for my Dad. Since he stopped smoking thirty-three years ago he has been impossible to buy for.

As I drive into Lincoln I pass some impressive Victorian terrace houses and as I sit in traffic I wonder (as I always do) about all the people that have lived in those houses over the years. I imagine how the road outside looked a hundred years ago.

These thought processes always put me in mind of the past life regression I had with my psychic friend Patricia a couple of years ago. I lived (allegedly) at the turn of the last century as one of four daughters in a reasonably wealthy family; I married a cold and rather cruel man. I lost countless children during pregnancy and childbirth and finally ended up dying in a house fire trying to rescue my one true friend, our housekeeper. Happy times.

Then I was reborn shortly after; apparently you come back very quickly if you die in unresolved and/or tragic circumstances.

This time I recalled a band in playing and I was dressed in a red satin dress, dancing with a man who I knew was my husband. We were laughing and I remember saying this was the happiest time we had together. The happiest because the war started shortly after and he was killed; I was pregnant with our daughter at the time.

You see what I mean about my thought processes? Leave me sat outside some Victorian houses for too long and this is the speed at which they travel.

1500 hours and the Christmas shopping has started, and now it needs to finish. The one selfish redeeming factor is that I have purchased the most beautiful red croc skin notebook pour moi; I intend it to be "my book of ideas". Heaven forbid it falls into the wrong hands...

I call my auntie who I have agreed to meet in the Bail for a drink late afternoon. We agree to meet in the Cloud Bar in half an hour after I have battled to find a parking space (the Bail in Lincoln is the beautiful and historic part of the city, it is the part the tourists rightly flock to every year and it is notoriously difficult to park there on a Saturday.....)

I then go on to spend a very enjoyable hour and a half with my auntie and uncle who I haven't seen in a good three months.

My auntie, I should mention, was my heroine as a little girl. I remember her as being very glamorous and loving; I adored her and still do. Being four years younger than my Dad she always seemed so vibrant and trendy. To be truthful she still is.

This year saw my uncle being diagnosed with bowel cancer. Thankfully it was caught at a very early stage and he has been given the "all clear" following a lengthy operation. It has clearly changed his outlook on life in every possible sense, a point that he made several times this afternoon.

He talked about what was important to him now, and the realisation of his mortality coupled with the effect that the operation and his advancing years have had in terms of what he can and can't do. His words were those of a man who has come full circle in life and is now back at the point where it all makes sense again.

These are the moments when I give thanks for being a member of my family, and I mark them down as "special". I know life doesn't stand still, but I am grateful to have reached an age where I am lucky enough to still be able to appreciate those I love because most of them are still with me, or at least have not long since passed.

1630 hours and I'm driving home, via Waitrose to pick up something indulgent for supper. Maybe it's the dark nights but suddenly I'm walloped fairly and squarely by the fact that I am really missing Significant Other....

The good thing here is that it isn't a constant mooning around, painfully ticking days off a calendar until he is home. No, it isn't that, although a keen eye is always on the number of days left...

It is a short, sharp and acute realisation that strikes without notice and regard; it's a message to remind me that he isn't here and I am. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt on a level that equates most definitely to where my heart lies.

1730 hours and I'm home; shopping unpacked and either refrigerated or laid away for later. I uncork the wine, pour a large glass and settle down to write this post.

1744 hours and my phone rings; it's him.

"I wanted to let you know that it's snowing here; the first snow of the year...."

What makes this so perfect is that he knows this is the sort of detail I appreciate.

The sails of the windmill are turning again, and this time I don't think I've been here before.