A slew of good intentions pool on Saturday mornings. Grand plans for home improvements or expeditions to new destinations. We spend all week waiting for this: we pray for sun, we map it out in boring Tuesday meetings and daydream the details on Thursday commutes home. For some, they can think of nothing finer than to don their team's colours and start the day as they mean to go on supping up the first escaping fizz of a cold beer, while others take up their gardening sheers ready to tackle the natural world in their backyard that waits for no office worker. 

The reality of Saturdays are the knowing looks of synchronised dads pushing mowers on front lawns in the suburbs, harassed mothers carting children between little Suzie's birthday party and Gordon's judo lesson. And, of course, for the weekend dweller who was too keen to shrug off the working week, the Saturday sunrise brings the banging headache, the hazy post-overindulgence fog. The well-intended morning alarm is hesitantly but irrevocably silenced and Saturday thoroughly lost for those who slackened their ties too quickly when five o'clock hit the day before.

Saturdays happily sag under the weight of their potential, with a gravitational pull that keeps one eye focussed ahead to the next at all times. The first real relaxed deep breath of the week where you can genuinely have no idea what the time is. Perhaps that special first chapter of a dirty weekend away inside the bubble that you won't see pop until tomorrow. Those lucky enough to make the most of this day get the envious look from the shift worker serving them their afternoon glass of wine or ringing up their well-earned purchase, though they know deep down they'll get their revenge come Wednesday's day off. And everybody knows anyway that Saturdays are easily spent and too easy to waste. Saturdays will leave you craving more as they slip away too soon, like always.