Today the weather felt entirely different. It felt like the first dark night after summer, when the rain and cold have set in, and you start looking towards the next chapter of seasons. I’m not even quite sure why – perhaps it was the cold sunshine that stretched across our back garden, or the way it gave up so easily to the clouds, as though it knew its time wasn’t there, its place was elsewhere.
With a lengthy to-do list, the type that makes you quite nervous, with a pinch of determination and a hard slap to distraction, I balanced this list with making the most of a no-alarm-set morning. I surprised myself by going to bed at 1am and waking up at 8am refreshed. I refused to move for three hours. Trout brought me a bagel in bed, one side covered in marmite, Ras’ favourite. He bounded onto the bed trying to dive straight in, and while I pushed him away I ran a finger through a puddle that had fallen through the middle, and held it up to his nose. He really loves marmite.
The rest of the day has been a satisfying blur, the best kind of day for a Sunday, the best way to approach a new week. I believe that Sundays are for breakfast in bed. They’re made for making no plans at all, just a day at home with your to-do list. I believe that to-do lists should include things like catching up with last week’s newspapers and cleaning out cupboards. I believe that Sundays are also made for the occasional roast dinner at a pub with friends, and that you should always stay for at least another beer after your plates have been cleared. I believe that you should watch that extra episode of the Netflix series you’re watching, and that you should give up the idea that you should bake bread on a Sunday, because if you’re forcing yourself to make it, it just won’t taste good. That’s part of the science of baking.
I’ve been very quiet lately, and I’ve been trying to find the time to think, so here is what I thought about today. Forgive me for my absence.