Life doesn’t get much sweeter than a lung-busting hour of five-a-side football with your mates, followed by Desert Island Discs and a procession of powerful coffees in the garden on a bright springish morning, then a pint of Old Speckled Hen as Sunday lunch roasts gently in the oven with the promise of a glass of red, forty winks and an England rugby match to come.
The perfect sequence of uppers and downers, to help maintain a tolerable equanimity.
A broad generational range of Britons will immediately understand when I mention the Sunday night dread of Monday morning, with homework undone and the eternal Songs of Praise/Antiques Roadshow/Last of the Summer Wine triple whammy. If this feeling still exists in your life, you must change it as soon as possible.
So perhaps the secret of happiness hides in the ability to enjoy one’s Sundays.
Nonetheless, there’s always some cloud on the horizon. Stick 'em a few quid but buy an umbrella.
Ah, the Sunday evening terrors! Watching the sands of your weekend disappear down the hourglass. Homework assignments left undone until the last minute. Knotty problems from work left unaddressed from Friday. Sounds like a good theme for a poem, maybe in the style of Edgar Allen Poe. (Note, this isn't another commission, just an observation.)
ReplyDeleteHow right you are, Duck. I'll see what I can do. (And don't think I didn't notice your haste to avoid buying me further beers).
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