Didn't seem so long ago that Saturday nights were the social centre of the week. Lime late. Stay up later. Smoky clubs and heart pounding beats. Those were the days of the discotheque, the dates, daring to stay out til dawn. Graduation from the family life Saturdays in which as pre-teens we invented ourselves in old-clothes dress up, colouring pencils for make up, pretend games and pretend relationships, nativity scenes and concerts, "playing" other personae, imagining ourselves as others.
Even when young children came along, it was the night of the late movie, the pizza dinner, a little slackness in a tight wound week. For the few years as Sunday Editor of a national newspaper, the family (not just me) spent Saturday nights in the newsroom, putting the paper to bed.
Now, children have flown the nest for some four or five years. Night time holds few attractions: the thought of being out and about on the roadways after dark is a little dismaying. Saturday night has become meditative and introspective - a particular time when no one calls or messages; email is quiet; even facebook turns a blank stare. Is it that everyone else is about something nocturnal and exciting? Is it that my life has turned a corner, we are the older generation now? Or is it that everyone - the world over - is breathing out a sigh, inward looking, not just a quiet time, a silent non-communicating time; believing that that rest of the world is dancing to some other lively beat.