Time on my hands

It's Saturday (Friday) night and I just got paid
Fool about my money don't try to save
My heart says go go have a good time
Cause it's Saturday night and I'm feeling fine

I'm going to rock it up, I'm gonna to rip it up
I'm going to shake it up, gonna ball it up
Gonna rocket up and ball to night

Little Richard, to the uninitiated, roared the words out as we pulled on our "best" and set off, in the rain to wait for the bus to town and a night out.
It's a lifetime away the late 50s. No car, no mobile phone, no internet, no 'virtual' family of friends to chat and catch up, only the reality of the real thing. Everything was real. The job was based in a firm and within an industry which, if wanted was there for life. Our friends and the extended family lived within a radius of 10 miles. The business of life was within an easy orbit and we were happy.
Of course ignorance is bliss but bursting the bubble of Yorkshire and discovering the warmth of the Southern Hemisphere revealed a vastly expanded experience in new found relationships.
One thing not repeated anywhere else to the same degree was the individualistic British, Friday / Saturday night out. Be it to the pub or the ballroom, boys and girls took their chances to meet and have fun.
In other countries dates and dances were far more formal, a remixing of the same people with predictably the same outcomes. Here in the UK we never knew how the dice would fall or even if we were in the game but we went out resolutely looking !!  Chemistry was at play and life's recurrent theme, boy meets girl was played out in all the nooks and crannies across the land.

Here we are programmed to go out, to sit at home on the weekend was a crime and so it is with some trepidation that I find the desire to leave my chair greatly diminished, withered to a reflex action based on a memory.
So much of what we do is based on physiological impulses, themselves powered by memory and motivated by our past. 

The time we get up and when and what we eat. The obsession with fads, be they health and eating or the need to exercise, they dip drip at our modus operandi.
To be energetic is good to be lazy is bad but surely it depends not on some Tsar who dictates the concept of "The Good Life". It should be the individuals decision.
The Victorians were always banging on about engaging ones self with "Good Works" and that idle hands were a recipe for trouble.
Perhaps the "idle rich" were fearful of the "idle poor". Too much time to think and contemplate could turn to mischief, rather redirected the masses and sow the concept of being "busy" as an ideal in itself !!!