In praise of rainy autumn Sundays with cups of tea, roaring fires and toasted muffins – in praise grey skies brewing heavy weather. In praise of leaves strewn across the ground in thick, wet clumps – in praise of nights gradually drawing in, heading home in the smoky dusk and enjoying a nip of good whisky to keep out the cold – in praise of everything autumnal.
In praise of this Sunday, the longest day – the magical moment in the year, when we put the clocks back and gain an hour’s sleep, free and untaxed, precious slumber time.
In praise of small town Sundays, when all the shops are closed, and whatever the need, you’ll just have to wait until Monday morning.
In praise of boring, lethargic, stay-at-home Sundays, when time floats slowly by and we forget what it is like just to have the luxury of time to waste.
The clocks have gone back, but on days like this, I feel I have turned the clock even further back in time, to those Sundays when I was a small kid, and the whole world was closed and you had time to waste.