Sunday to myself

I have an unheard of Sunday to myself. Both of the girls are with their fathers. I really should do at least one of those jobs that have been on my mental list of things to do since at least last summer - clean out my wardrobe (I have a scary woman coming to visit me in June to go through my wardrobe and tell me what my colours are) or sort out the paper work to minimise the chances of death by paper avalanche everytime I open the bureau. I am not joking. See?


But I have decided to do exactly what I want to do. Read my book, maybe watch a film and eat prawns doused in lemon juice and covered in black pepper. I may even stretch out on the sofa and drift off to sleep warmed by the sun coming through the window. Or take the beanbag out onto the roof terrace and lie in the sun listening to the sounds of other peoples sunday afternoons drifting up from the gardens below.
And the very best bit of this day of indulgence will be when youngest returns tonight and she cuddles up on the sofa next to me just before bedtime and we make plans as to what we will do tomorrow when I won't I have any time to myself and I will love every last minute of it.