Saturday Night.

I dislike Saturday nights. I always have. Even as a teenager I preferred to go out on week nights rather than Saturdays. And when I worked at the theatre, I always declined to give up my Saturday night shift because it helped being in a place of fantasy where the real, grimy, Saturday night world was shut out. I think that’s possibly the best of words to describe Saturday nights: grimy. There’s something essentially bad about Saturday nights.

Mill Lane was strange tonight. Most of the houses were poorly lit and looked unoccupied, including the abode of M’Lady S. I wondered whether they all knew something I didn’t. But somebody had decorated a 30ft-high fir tree outside their house with a corkscrew cascade of shimmering blue lights. It looked very pretty, although I’m at a loss to know how they did it without a cherry picker. And it didn’t suit Saturday night.