Sunday is fast becoming my favourite day of the week. Odd, because Sundays have oft presented difficulties for me - part of the weekend, 50% of it in fact, but so intrinsically linked to Monday I'd often be left drifting, slightly out of sorts, a shade blue. Eager to rewind to Saturday or fast forward to the onslaught of Monday. Not always, but sometimes.
Today I feel rested and content following Sunday. A Sunday which is translating into a happy and successful Monday. The trick is to do your favourite things, with your favourite people. A long, lazy lie-in is essential. As are eggs. A meandering walk through the common, punctuated by dogs and ducks, wind and rain. Wet jeans and a dripping umbrella dry off in a quirky cafe with mismatched china and mini teapots. Such niceties appeal to and please me.
A Sunday requires an element of practicality. A trip to Sainsbury's. A load of washing. Not too much - just enough. A Sunday requires hearty sustenance. Hours of gentle kitchen pottering to produce a near perfect risotto, and a dreamy, cloying Shepherd's pie. A Christmas film. A final. Much laughter and unabashed excitement.
A bath. A lot of sleep. A Sunday to make the rest of the week jealous. Not a shade of blue in sight.
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