The mad rush of Saturday, trying to get everything prepared, to cover all bases and failing abysmally to catch up after a week of mayhem is followed by a gentle awakening to a perfect Sunday morning. Luxuriant moments of stillness and warmth, where every muscle, just for once, feels relaxed and comfortable. Birds serenade the morning, shafts of pale light tease me to open my eyes…

… then the dive out of bed, the lunge for the dressing gown and the ungainly stumble in the general direction of the kettle. I need coffee. Lots of coffee. Time to move the stiffness out of the achy bits…. No-one should have to be out of bed this fast on a Sunday. Granted, working every day of the week means I’m always up early, but this is ridiculous… I shouldn’t be up before the sun in the middle of summer…

The dogless house…