What Katy Did: Staying way too busy

Having said last week that we, as a society, often feel the need to cram every waking moment with more and more 'things', Katy's weekend is far from being relaxing.

Last week I wrote about the way that we, as a society, often feel the need to cram every waking moment with 'things' that we think will help fulfil us and make us better, more interesting people.

I was referring specifically to 20-somethings, myself in particular, who tend to live at 100mph. My ponderings on such matters arose because a) I had just read an article by a 60-year-old, who said she was blissfully happy that she no longer felt obliged to do all those 'things' or even to feign interest in them, and b) I had had yet another one of those weekends trying to squeeze in as many activities as possible.

Friday night, having binged on junk food for most of the week, I felt guilty and so took myself to the gym where I put my body through an hour-long pump class (where you use weights to exercise different muscle groups to each track). This physical exertion would normally be enough to have me snuggling up on the sofa ready for an early night but oh no, I had a night on the tiles planned - a few bars in town followed by VIP entry to Liquid Envy for myself and a group of mates. Not being one to ever shun the dance floor, I was soon bopping away, necking a few glasses of wine and the like. It was a great night and loads of fun but my head didn't hit the pillow until around 4am-ish, which then put paid to the early start I had hoped for on Saturday.

With a list of things 'to do' as long as both my arms and legs, I emerged from bed mid-morning feeling rather worse for wear, so decided to put the allotment off for the next day. I did, however, manage to somehow summon the energy to haul my arse to the tip, along with the mountains of cardboard, carpet, underlay and an assortment of bin bags, which had started to stink out my utility room.

Then it was into town to take back various clothing purchases in order to feel virtuous, before popping round to the parents for dinner (my fridge was rather bare so it was good timing). But with food inside me I felt more energised and ready to tackle town again. And so, with my new-found 23-year-old, PR-schmoozy-type party friend in tow, we hit good old Ipswich for a second night running. Unfortunately, due to Friday's session, we only lasted until midnight before the yawning got the better of us and we headed homeward - alcohol free this time.

And so Sunday was the day I finally got around to visiting the allotment - and what a bomb site it was. The weeds were, and still are, either a metre high or a metre wide, depending on which sort they are. I started at the front and worked back. After about an hour I reached the strawberries, or rather the tangle of netting and giant weeds which had engulfed the poor plants. But on stripping it away - a time consuming task - I was delighted to find they had produced next years crop, some of which had already bed themselves in rather well and looked set on staying put.

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After two hours I was hungry, so went home for lunch, then did the dutiful grandparents visit to Felixstowe as it had been at least a month since I popped in to say hello.

Sunday night I was meant to go to a gig but at 6pm my tired friend, who had been at the gym, texted to say she was knackered to leave the house and so I decided it was probably best to stay in too.

So, did I have to do all these things and did they leave me feeling fulfilled? Yes and no. I don't have to dig my allotment but it gives me a sense of satisfaction. I don't have to visit my grandparents but it gives them, and also me, pleasure (even if with one of them we have the same three conversations over and over). I didn't have to go to the gym but it makes me feel positive about looking after my health. I didn't have to go to the tip but my house was starting to smell so it was necessary. I also didn't have to go out drinking and dancing but you know what, I genuinely do love to dance so it makes me feel good. The drinking part, however, was perhaps the one unnecessary element to the weekend (but it too can make things fun - for a while at least). Whether or not I ought to have done so much within just 48 hours is debatable. One day I will slow down, I'm sure. Probably when I'm 65.

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