By KATE HUNTER
Monday is a clean, fresh page in the otherwise dog-eared exercise book of my life.
I love Mondays. The chaos of the weekend is behind me, the house is tidy, thanks to our patented Sunday evening ‘hour of power’ in which all rooms are tidied, laundry folded, uniforms laid out.
I like to cook on a Sunday afternoon, baking a banana cake and roasting a chicken for school lunches so I feel we’re ready for the week.
Also, on Mondays everybody goes somewhere, so for a few hours at least, the house is uninhabited and will remain as we left it. I can almost hear the walls sigh with relief.
I wasn’t always like this. Like so many people, I used to love a Friday. It was like a little Christmas Eve every week. The excitement in the offices where I worked was palpable. Where are you going? Who are you seeing? What are you wearing? There was no telling what might happen.
These days, I can tell you what I will be doing/seeing/wearing every single Saturday. It will involve either cricket, netball, AFL or hockey, depending on the time of year. Sometimes there’s a party, but as it will be either a 10th or a 50th birthday celebration, there’s not much chance of pashing a random in a cab queue.