Recently, I’ve noticed a split among my friends and acquaintances. On one side, hopping around like excitable bunnies, are what I’d call the super schedulers. Those who book dinners with friends six weeks in advance, who send out Google Calendar invites to lock in a picnic, and who already have a pint in the diary for a Tuesday in August. In many ways, they feel like they’re in step with the times. This is, after all, the age of hyperconnectivity. Then there are the people of old, the more spontaneous socialisers. In my mind, they are like felines stretched out in the sun. They prefer to make decisions on the fly and keep their diaries gleefully free of ink – certainly, their hackles will be raised if you try to organise a Sunday lunch too far in the future.
Vicky, a 31-year-old strategy director, falls into the former camp. She often finds she has plans for several weekends in advance when she looks in her diary – far from filling her with dread, it makes her happy. “I appreciate having something to look forward to each weekend, and I actually feel strange if I look at a weekend and there’s nothing planned. It’s too…” – she seems to audibly shudder – “I just like having at least one thing!”
