‘GOOD weekend?’ The Monday morning catch-up re-echoed around the office.

‘Fabulous,’ I replied.

My 11-year-old son had invited a schoolfriend for a sleepover on Saturday night. His dad was free as well, so we were all set for a houseful. The children put their food order in early; Saturday night roast: chicken, chipolatas, Yorkshire puddings (with chicken?), roast potatoes, sprouts. And since I’d received a blowtorch for my birthday, crème brûlée for dessert – on condition that they could use it.

That was my Saturday sorted. Quick dash to the supermarket to buy up vast quantities of eggs and cream and, while the two boys played, I settled down to an afternoon separating egg yolks, making custard, peeling potatoes, preparing sprouts, mixing batter. None of this was taxing, just a bit time consuming and with a dog walk in the park to make the most of the late afternoon sun, daylight was pretty much accounted for.

A roast dinner usually takes me an age to prepare and the diners mere minutes to consume, but the addition of a 230° incendiary device halfway through the proceedings proved an entertaining way to prolong the meal. I’m not quite sure what health and safety or risk assessment procedures I should have completed before arming two children with this, but I am able to report that the dog, the cat, the kitchen, four crème brûlées, three ramekins and most of my fingers survived the experience.

And after the meal, while the two boys had fun, the adults reflected on parenting and childhood over a glass or two of something warming.

Next day was equally busy; the parent taxi service was in full swing and with half a dozen egg whites to use up, meringues seemed the obvious choice (another dash to the supermarket for more cream). The afternoon passed in a pleasantly sated haze and once we had sent our guests on their evening way, I rolled up my sleeves to tackle a weekend’s accumulation of washing up.

Busy and inconsequential: cooking, washing up, quaffing the odd glass of wine while putting the world to rights stick in my mind – but I was also very aware of not having any time to myself or to catch my breath. By the time I’d sorted school stuff out for Monday it was well after midnight when I crawled into bed; the weekend chores that awaited me on Friday still undone.

It was, at one and the same time, exhausting and busy but strangely refreshing. A break from routine? Sharing time with friends? Creativity (cooking) in a life that’s usually rushed and where end-results aren’t easy to see? Maybe a combination of all those things. There’s something about doing things that are satisfying giving you energy to do even more things.

I turned to my inbox with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.