What I’d do
1 Let’s be clear, for me there is no such thing as a typical weekend. Everything I do is extraordinary. Even if it’s just mooching around our inner city, 23rd floor Queen St apartment in a bathrobe until one o’clock on a Saturday afternoon eating icecream out of a carton with my fingers. I favour coconut for the dietary fibre. Have you seen the husks on those things when they drop off the palms? My partner Averil is the financial controller on a movie being shot in Auckland. Apparently it’s fantastic. It better be. In the middle of the year she worked over 50 days straight without a break — leaving before dawn and coming home after dark. I told her: “It’s crazy, it’s not
The Manhattan Project. You’re not curing cancer.” She agreed. It was more important than that. It was show business.
2 I filled those Saturdays drinking in Britomart, coffee in browsing through Unity Books on High St, getting another take-away coffee in Durham Lane and picking up a Weekend Herald, which I love. Getting shooting pains in my groin if I forgot to bend my knees when I picked it up. Then stabbing pains in my chest. Which I put down to envy when I looked at the cartoons — Guy Body just keeps getting better and Rod Emmerson’s graphic skills are as good as anyone in the world. I’d have dinner ready on the table and vodka, lime and soda poured when Averil walked in. One sip and she’d fall face-forward into the glass, fast asleep. If she woke up in time we’d catch an art-house movie with subtitles at the Academy. Why am I lying to you? We catch something loud and brainless at Event Cinemas.
3 On Sundays, Averil insists on doing something with the grandkids. They happen to be living in Auckland this year also. I say, “Sweetheart, cupcake, you’ve had a horrendous week. Maybe we should catch up with them in 2020, or the year after that.” But there is no reasoning with her. Their dad has added “food and drink critic” to his CV along with “singer/songwriter and composer of film and television scores”. Sam is doing the honours on Joan — my play about his grandmother at the ATC.
4 Many a Sunday evening — early, because Ralph and Gus have school and daycare in the morning and Jessica has postgraduate studies, Sam herds everyone into yet another Asian restaurant that we just have to try. A few weeks back it was a ramen joint in Mount Eden. Being deaf, I failed to comprehend the handwringing warnings the distraught and weeping staff were issuing when I ordered the extra-hot chilli. The music’s from Jaws started thumping from my abdomen on the way home. Drenched in sweat and shivering, I rushed to the lavatory when I got in the door. I’ll spare you the details but 48 hours later I swear I spotted my epiglottis in the toilet bowl. Another 48 hours after that I faintly heard Averil outside the cubicle shouting something about ringing a doctor. It was hard to tell. She was wearing breathing apparatus and talking through a megaphone. I said “No, Bring more ramen. I’ll see a doctor when I’ve reached my target weight.” How was your weekend?