I love Sundays. They’re such lovely, lazy days. You can get up after 9 o clock and not feel remotely bad about it. You can potter around in your pyjamas until lunchtime, doing nothing in particular, and it doesn’t matter in the slightest. You can get creative in the kitchen using up all the random stuff you have left in the fridge and make some surprisingly delicious meals (today’s was potato, onion, spinach and cheese cakes fried in olive oil). You can lie on the sofa reading a book for hours and nothing and no one need disturb you. In the evening you can look forward to the X Factor results show (I love rubbish TV), which you can dissect in detail with colleagues at work on Monday morning. In short, Sundays are perfect.
Today was an especially perfect Sunday. My mummy came to visit me. We went to the National Gallery and looked at the Impressionists. Then we had a beautiful walk around Waterlow Park, which was absolutely ablaze with Autumnal glory.
After seeing my mum off, I came home and made a plum crumble, just because I fancied it. Then I watched Downton Abbey again, and cried lots.
Once my tears were dry, I curled up on the sofa with a marvellous book I’ve been meaning to read for ages. I’d forgotten how good Vita Sackville-West is; witty, insightful, and yet beautifully tender. The characters in All Passion Spent are brilliantly, devastatingly drawn, and Sackville-West understands family dynamics so well. Don’t let this one pass you by.