Why are the weekends so supersonic?

The weekends go by so quickly, don't they?

One minute it's Friday evening and it's all ahead of you and the next it's eight pm on Sunday and the shopping's done, the laundry's done, the apartment's clean, the hike is over, the dinner is cooked and eaten, the lunches are made, the long, lovely breakfasts are eaten, the bottle of wine is drunk, the nice meal out is over, the arguing over jelly nails versus a new jacket to replace the one left somewhere in Truro is on a time out, the precious few hours with Himself are nearly gone, the sleep in is over, the after-work drinks are forgotten, the dishwasher is on, the blogging is ongoing, the telephone calls didn't get made, the craft work didn't get done, the beds are changed, the clothes are back in the wardrobe, the new handles are on the chest of drawers, the new basketball didn't get a run out, the neighbours have been chatted to, the front steps have been sat on for a coffee, the Tims' cup was a 'please play again' disaster as usual, the alarms have been set, the hot water has all been used to clean an already clean girl, the Iwo Jima documentary is nearly over (TG), and it's all about Monday morning all the time now.

Never mind.

We still have disc four of Rome.

Caesar is about to go back to Rome with Cleopatra and the child that's probably not his, and we are all dying to see whether Varenus can lose the furrow in his brow and what Marc Anthony will be up to this episode.

Thank goodness for Blockbusters.