Living out here in the NSW country, free of the rigid limits of that 9-5, five days a week existence, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to differentiate between the days. That’s really OK, most of the time, but sometimes you do wake up in the morning and struggle to remember whether it’s a weekend or not.

Routines are definitely there to be disrupted (we are in an age of ‘disruption’ as a positive force, no?), but there’s no denying the benefits of a bit of structure to life. It’s like deadlines for writers – that fateful hour looming closer and closer is the best possible way to concentrate the mind and stimulate the limbs to action. As with everything, it’s probably about striking a balance – in this case, between rigid conformity on the one hand and loosie-goosie hanging about in bed all day.

This is why Saturdays are assuming a growing significance in the Corner Cottage calendar. The sixth day of the week is when everyone who’s anyone is out and about, as well as the cavalcade of Canberrans en route to the coast. Businesses are all open to capitalise on the passing trade and locals are stocking up for the weekend. It’s a veritable Vanity Fair, country style.

Corner Cottage was astir reasonably early, as we had to catch the local nursery before it closed at midday to select two trees for the front garden. Not just any old trees – these were Weeping Cherry trees (otherwise known as Snow Fountains), selected to match the single survivor of last year’s drought.

Walking our trees home, one each, brought to mind the cunning camouflage strategy of Macduff in Macbeth as he closed in on the usurper’s castle — although their boughs presumably had leaves.

Coffee was calling, but this is where the beauty of Braidwood lies: we could drop our trees off at home and be back in the thick of things within five minutes. Our bakery of choice, Dojo, provided an artisanal sourdough loaf, artisanal lamb pies, artisanal sausage rolls, as well as that sweet, sweet coffee – and just look at the artisanal patina on that roof!

Wandering back with fragrant parcels of baked goodness warming our hands, we happened on a parcel of hogs. Fascinatingly, describing Harley Davidson motorbikes as Hogs comes from the acronym of Harley Owners’ Group, and not for the fat, grunting (but arguably delicious) nature of the bikes themselves. Bikers come through here quite often, sometimes in large groups, but this lot were next-level.

I’ve always preferred my bikes unmotorised or if they had to run on internal combustion, of Japanese or Italian manufacture. But these were impressively customised and baroque. That’s the proud owner in the background, for scale.

The Farmers’ Market was on in the National Theatre, so we took a quick turn. We were a bit late for the best of it: local honey, baked goods, spiced rum, veggies, cheeses and the like. There was no room for my cellist, but I know he’s about — he waved as he walked past the house yesterday while I was stacking firewood.

And so home to plant the trees. This turned out to be quite a physically-demanding task: clearing the ground, digging the holes, trimming the roots, pruning the branches. There were weeds to root out (as usual) and fertiliser to sprinkle, but in the end they were well set-up according to the instructions.

This takes us to early evening, with the winter night closing in and the chill rising from the damp ground. We were due to go to Braidwood Film Club in the National Theatre: it’s just started up again after lockdown, and on the agenda was ‘Woman at War’ — “a 2018 Icelandic adventure/comedy (albeit one with a few wry ecological/political messages)” — but when the time came, we were ensconced by the fire and reluctant to budge.

And we still are. A couple of glasses of wine, some cheese and sourdough, and we’re set for the night. The main drag is dark and deserted: not a car or Hog from one end to the other; the shops are shut and the Royal Mail Hotel is pulsating gently with socially distancing drinkers.

And our trees are settling into their soil, adjusting to their new surroundings and storing up the resources to blossom when summer comes — and many more into the future. A good Saturday overall.