I STAYED with an old school friend recently. Young, free and formerly single, Julie is now married and the proud mum of just-turned-two, Rosa. Trying to mix my usual weekend mode of laziness and hedonism with a visit to a young family was a non-starter.

Rosa's timetable would keep a well-trained army on its toes, and it's no let-up at weekends, no siree. Though perfectly happy staring at ducks in a stupor at the local park, she - and I - were hurried back to the car and reminded that meals, naps and playtime all had their non-negotiable time.

Apparently, this is all pretty important to a little one and helps them to feel secure and nurtured. It was sweet how everyday objects were enough to make life feel thrilling for Rosa, from the delights of a new flavour of food on a plastic spoon, to a soft toy in the shape of a drunk-looking elephant, but outside of that, her life was planned right down to what colour underwear she was going to wear the next day.

I'm sure a certain amount of routine is what makes the world go round, but does it really have to be this unbending? What happened to my formerly impetuous friend before the shackles of nappies, feeds and bedtimes got to her? And how does it all work as we grow up? We can, so easily, get stuck in our habits, and seeing Rosa's uncompromising timetable for an afternoon, I felt that stepping out of our stubborn routines - for all of us - requires a little more imagination.

MY washing machine finally gave up the ghost last week. Grumpily, and with no clean undies left, I begrudgingly got my laundry together and headed off to the local launderette.

While I was staring at the warm wash cycle, an elderly lady approached me and began chatting. My first reaction was to pretend to be engrossed in the tumbling washing but, becoming contrite at my innate suspicion, I decided to give her a chance.

She began talking about her granddaughter, Jen, who had decided to share an allotment with a friend. Jen was unable to go for the first digging session, but some days later got detailed directions and headed off with a spade. She spent a glorious afternoon and was chuffed to bits at the surprising amount of potatoes she unearthed.

Returning the next weekend, she was surprised to find her friend digging up the next door plot and not the stranger's now sadly desecrated potato garden next to it. They left an apology note in a plastic bag on a stranger's fork, and never returned.

I found myself chuckling conspiratorially with the woman, and realised that she was not, after all, another nutter who had invaded my routine. Without my washing machine packing in, I would have stayed in and watched EastEnders. Even leisure time can become routine and perhaps it's not all bad listening to what the stranger in the launderette has to tell you. It might make you laugh.