There's something special about Sunday mornings. They sound different for a start. People aren't up and about so early. Sneak out in the garden, especially on a day that's overcast, and quite often all you can hear is the wind rustling leaves. Even the birds are quiet.
Colette's mother, Sido, used to get up earlier and earlier as she got older so that she could capture the day starting out. I often think I should follow her example. Instead, I sneak round the corner shop to buy fatty croissants, and all the other things I left off my non-existent shopping list, with my coat thrown over my PJs, hoping people won't notice (actually, I think there were a few others in the queue too.)
And then enjoy a lazy breakfast.
Don't worry, they weren't all for me. And I'll be back to porridge tomorrow.