I'm not going to lie; I get a bit cranky at the weekends. Monday to Friday (excluding during the school holidays) I have the house to myself, it's just Max (the bearded dog) the cats and I milling at home. I'm free to listen to the voices in my head, hear their conversations and then write them down as I see fit.
Weekends aren't this simple. There are these awful obstructions getting in the way. These obstructions are people. And I have to do things like talk, feed people (especially the little people) do washing, clean the kitchen, pretend to listen to my husband, that kind of thing.
I'm not going to lie, I can get a bit craggy and turn into Godzilla. I think it's considered failing at parenting if you tell everyone to shh because you can't concentrate on your imaginary friends.
Today I ended up taking myself for a sulky nap, but actually right now the Saturday has turned out perfect. South Africa are playing Argentina in the rugby so the man-child is watching that. The children are quiet and occupied and I've sat down with my laptop and a glass of wine and I'm going to try and write this penultimate chapter.
You know what, someone will probably tell me they are hungry in a minute, or the two biggest children will launch themselves into some MMA smackdown upstairs, but right now, right this very moment, Saturday is perfect.
Wishing you all a wonderful weekend.