Sunday morning call

Ever since that Oasis song, I've always been acutely aware of the curious detachment of Sunday mornings. It doesn't help that I slept right through it this morning.

I lapsed back into my unable to sleep phase last night, and as I'm sure I've said before when I can't sleep I eventually end up paranoid and impatient. What was probably just some rustling leaves in the wind became fire-raising kids, and the creak the walls make as they slowly move into place became the ceiling starting to fall in. Round about 3 I finally dropped off, except Brother (and I'm not blaming him), left his alarm on to catch the rugby, and watched the match with the alarm still going. Consequently, I went back to sleep (fatal mistake) and woke up around 12:30!

I've got a blister that resembles a third toe, and I definitely did uncharitable things to my tendons yesterday scrambling across canal locks and up the sides of bomb craters. It was the third time I crossed the canal via the lock that I made the mistake of looking down, and realised it was at least a ten foot drop to the solid looking sluice gate below. So I clung on for dear life and got to the other side as quickly as I safely could, only to realise there was no towpath on the other side, so had to come back again, acutely aware that that was a very silly way to die.

I've written off this morning, and I'm just going to do some chores before heading down to the new Cha Cha Cafe, a vegan outfit who have just taken over the cafe in Cassiobury Park. Could be fun!

Of course, Cassiobury Park is two miles away, and walking to the kitchen seems a bit of an effort.