When I lived with my parents I used to hate Sundays with a complete and utter passion. Bored. Bored. Bored. Nothing to do for most of the time. Never saw friends. Endless cricket on the telly, seemingly all year round (although it wasn't then). Bath at 6 with Pick of the Pops on the aforementioned Perdio was a brief glimmer of hope, but then grim Sunday evening TV viewing brought me back down again. "The Good Old Days" was on the TV on Sundays in the 1960s. How ironic.
Now, though, I love Sundays. Never two the same, with loads of interesting things to do. Today: late-ish breakfast, rant at The Archers, making a vat of soup together, playing air drums to "Smoke on the Water", dancing in the kitchen, bit of gardening, baking rock cakes, doing a bit of art, drinking tea in the sunshine, looking forward to a nice supper with a glass of wine or two ... In fact, it's a:
hip shakin, radio shoutin, soup tasting, rotivatin, beetroot plantin, charcoal drawin, cake baking, cat strokin, wine drinkin, roast eatin, Sunday!
(save you a rock cake, Judith)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Just left a huge long diatribe in response to your Sunday gloom (as was) - and then got distracted and lost it. Have a lovely rock-cake time with the paper-boy.
hasta la mardi
Ah! Voodoo Chile! I know you share my love for grown-up Sundays (and Sundaes).
Post a Comment