She had long ago decided that one of the many reasons she enjoyed a Saturday was it had lots of texture. It had more weather as there was time to go out in it. It had clothes: washing, ironing and hanging out, all serious textures. The day had fewer digital pings and beeps which in her view were not textures but simply waveforms from an invisible part of the spectrum. It had cooking: oh my, stacks of texture: vegetable peel and broth a-bubbling. It had a fire well stacked, well played vinyl, paper, books, pens and paint. And hugs. Texture.