Saturday and its up early, at least for me. My socials sorted I take my morning meds. My partner and I go to the local garden centre for breakfast. I know I will be outfaced by the large breakfast and go for the traditional with added eggs. It is a good change to occasionally eat a hearty breakfast at the start of the day. Having been well fed my partner shops for slip on shoes to take to the Spa on Monday, I sit on the fitting seat and wait whilst passing my opinion when asked. With shoes bought we move to the food hall and buy what we need for the rest of the weekend. With all our needs fulfilled we head for home.

There is a period of rest when I cool down and regather my energy and then I drive my partner and I to Astley Book Farm. It is a tucked away farm near Nuneaton that houses over hundred thousand used books. A vast rambling series of interconnected barns filled floor to ceiling with books. I of course head for the poetry section only to find an elderly gent occupying the whole poetry aisle. I have a bit of a sit down thinking he will move on, after all who goes into a poetry aisle and lingers? Old buggers with hearing aids, that’s who. In the end I negotiate getting past him and start to peruse the shelves. I have book tokens to spend so the world is my oyster. In the midst fall this poetry there is a “How to play rock guitar” complete with instructional CD for £3:50. It has a Stratocaster motive on the front, how could I resist?

So I gather my four books and instructional CD. One of the books is Fourteenth Century Verse and Prose. It has clearly been studied by a student who has written in numerous pencil notes, mostly translations of the more tricky words. I am delighted to find that the book contains a glossary. A glossary compiled by one J.R.R. Tolken. Its good to get an idea of what Tolken was doing as an academic before he wrote the Hobbit and all the other Hobbity tosh he wrote later.

The other three books are collections of single poets, Yevtushenko, Rupert Brooke and D.J. Enright.

With my books tucked under my arm I approach the pay desk and ask if they take book tokens. Yes they do but the website is a bastard to work, could we go away while they sort it out. We do go and make our own coffee at the bar in one of the sitting areas. We find ourselves in the same area as the old man with hearing aids who was the poetry aisle blocker. I sip my coffee and note how the book barn has gone down hill a bit, no café or hot food, its clear they are struggling. With coffee drunk we go back to the pay desk and find they have the book token website up and running. I present my token and pay the additional pound I owe. I remind the woman that we need to pay for two coffees and she gives us to then free as compensation for havining to wait to pay. We load up the car and I drive home.

I’m tired once I get home and need to rest. The evening arrives and I watch the dying embers of the Commonwealth games before continuing to watch series two of Criminal Record another series that is siding into the realms of desperation script writing. Its always disheartening when you can predict the plot line, who is going to tragically die, who is going to screw who and who will be in the next series, if there is one, more flawed, guilt ridden or psychopathic than before thus posing the scripty writers the impossible task of writing something believable about a bunch of characters that you lost patience with a long time ago. It all makes Midsomer Murders really appreciated, normal policemen, how refreshing. I take my night meds and go to bed knowing that tomorrow I need to rest and begin to pack for the rapidly approaching Spa break.

Sunday, I wake up knackered and feeling off. I have some toast and take my meds. On checking my blog I find that I have not finished Fridays and not published it. I set about finishing Fridays and get it out there published. With that done I start on the weekend blog pages. It takes me till early afternoon to catch up. My afternoon is spent reading some of my new poetry books and napping whilst making a mental list of the things I am going to pack for the Spa break.

The evening is food and a lot of TV films and the final episodes of Criminal Record. Of course it ends with repacking the dishwasher and taking my night meds and going off to bed. Tomorrow is a Spa day.