I Don't Like Mondays...

Dear Sunday,

Today, I am in Vienna and I remembered what you were all about. Nothing was open, I slept in, I ate a long lazy breakfast, I went in a horse and carraige.

You have always been my favourite day of the week. Whenever working in the past, I always think it's a delightful treat if a day off falls on you. There's something about you that allows me to keep my p.j.s on and stay in bed with the papers. You couldn't ever imagine Tuesday allowing me to behave in such a fashion. Car Boots, couldn't possibly occur on a Thursday and I couldn't imagine a village hall, having a sale of work on any other day but you.

I wonder if you miss the days before gigantic shopping centres, the days when people actually spent time together instead of racing around ugly buildings buying things they neither wanted nor could afford? I run the risk of sounding like someone's nan here, but I'll take it for you Sunday. Do you feel hard done by when someone has a McMurderers, instead of a Sunday roast? You know, the kind of breaking the bread that bring families together, instead of the kind of meal that gives your kid cancer/diabetes and has the audacity to call it a happy meal.

I liked that today I could do nothing but walk around and see some stuff I hadn't seen before. I liked that nothing unimportant was allowed to distract me from architecture and blue sky. I liked hanging out with you Sunday and I hope to do it again very soon...

Yours sincerely,