Yesterday was such a perfect day that we jokingly said we should not bother having kids. To be honest, I think I meant it. At the moment, there is only room in this marriage for two…well, three if you count the boat. (Which we do)

I was so happy at having been randomly blessed with the perfect Sunday that I shall record it here for prosperity, and when I am sleep deprived, haggard, wearing mis-matching crocs (God help me!), covered in Play-Doh and chained by the boob to a small demanding blob, I shall look back on this entry (if I have time to go online) and smile wistfully at what once used to be.

Start with a lazy lie-in whilst the rain patters on your cabin window and the kettle whistles on the hob.
Venture out to pick up the papers (ie send husband out). Read for a while by the fire. Drink coffee.
Take boat out on short, blustery cruise. Execute successful pump out. Smash into lock on way home due to high winds. Just enough of an adventure to make you feel happy to be safely moored up again.
Batten down the hatches.
Do some satisfying DIY that involves electric terminals, wiring and a bandsaw.
Have a cup of tea.
Stoke the fire up.
Hand wash scarves.
Make and then eat home-made chicken noodle soup for lunch.
Get sewing machine out and raise hem on exquisite 1940s tobacco silk cocktail dress.
Try dress on and get excited. Try fascinator on with it and hop around the boat with joy.
Stoke the fire up.
Drink wine.
Eat roast lamb with red wine gravy, mashed potatoes and red cabbage.
Watch Casablanca.
Cry.
Eat apple crumble and custard.
Work on plans for musical using Nina Simone hits with husband. ©
Go to bed and fall asleep immediately.

You can’t get more perfect than that on a winter’s Sunday. A message to the haggard depressed me from the fresh zesty me: Never mind, there’s always retirement to look forward to!

Over and out.