Perhaps we don't need to make the most of every minute.
Apparently, we’re supposed to make the most of the weekend.
Brunch. Pilates. A long walk. A gallery. Coffee somewhere with tiny chairs. Lunch. Drinks. Dinner. A Sunday roast. Meal prep. Something called a “reset”.
By Monday morning, we’re exhausted from all the relaxing.
I’m not convinced.
I think we’ve somehow turned the weekend into another productivity challenge.
Except this time the productivity is supposed to look effortless.
There is a strange pressure to make weekends count.
If you don’t have something booked, somewhere to go or someone to see, it can feel as though you’ve wasted the day.
I don’t think that’s true.
Sometimes Saturday morning should involve coffee, a shower and absolutely no idea what you’re doing next.
There’s something quite luxurious about having nowhere you need to be.
No reservation. No timetable. No twelve-step itinerary created in Notes.
Just time.
And perhaps a walk.
Eventually.
Doing nothing has developed an unfortunate reputation.
It sounds lazy. Unproductive. Almost slightly suspicious.
But there is a difference between doing nothing and resting.
Reading for an hour. Sitting somewhere in the sun. Watching a film you’ve already seen. Cooking something slowly. Walking without checking how many steps you’ve done. Lying in bed with coffee far beyond the point at which coffee is considered breakfast.
These things aren’t failures of ambition.
They’re part of having a life.
And frankly, if your weekend requires a spreadsheet, I’m concerned.
Here’s where I’ll contradict myself slightly.
I do think there’s something lovely about getting dressed properly even when you don’t have anywhere particularly important to go.
Not because anyone else is looking.
Because you are.
A good pair of jeans. A soft knit. Trainers. A coat. Sunglasses if the weather is behaving itself.
Nothing dramatic. Just enough to make the day feel like a day rather than an extension of Friday.
And if you’re only going out for coffee?
Excellent.
You still get to wear the outfit.
One of my favourite things about weekends in London is that they rarely go exactly to plan.
You leave the house for coffee. You walk a little further. You find a shop you’ve never noticed. You stop for lunch. Someone suggests a drink. Suddenly it’s 8pm.
Fine.
That’s a good day.
Not everything needs to be optimised.
Some of the best moments happen in the space between the plans.
Which is precisely why I think having fewer of them can sometimes be better.
Sunday has become slightly intense.
We’re apparently supposed to wake up early, exercise, clean the entire flat, prepare five nutritious meals, organise our wardrobe, plan the week and finish a book before lunchtime.
I would like to formally decline.
Sunday can be slower.
Wash your hair. Change the sheets. Go for a walk. Have lunch somewhere nice. Put your phone down for an hour.
Or don’t.
There is no prize.
You don’t arrive at Monday as a more evolved human being because your fridge contains six identical glass containers of quinoa.
Although, admittedly, it does look very organised.
Maybe this is what I like most about a good weekend.
Not the restaurant. Not the outfit. Not the expensive coffee.
Time.
Time to wander. Time to talk. Time to read. Time to sit somewhere without checking the clock. Time to change your mind. Time to stay another hour.
We spend so much of the week measuring everything that perhaps the nicest thing you can do on a Saturday is stop measuring.
I don't think a good weekend needs to look impressive. It doesn't need to be photographed. It doesn't need a reservation. It doesn't need to be productive. And it definitely doesn't need to become a personality makeover. Some weekends are full. Some are quiet. Some involve dinner at the best restaurant you can afford. Others involve takeaway, clean sheets and watching something ridiculous until midnight. They're both good. For me, the perfect weekend has a little structure and plenty of space. Enough plans to give the day somewhere to go. Enough freedom to change them. Because perhaps the real luxury isn't having somewhere beautiful to be. It's having time to decide where you want to be. And if you spend half of Saturday doing absolutely nothing? Enjoy it. Monday will find you eventually.
The looks, finds and places worth knowing.