Sleeping in on a Sunday.
It’s one of my favourite things to do.
That warm feeling of your eyelids slowing widening without the aid of an alarm blasting them open.
Then knowing, ‘I don’t need to jump straight out of bed’.
The chore of going to church on a Sunday left me in early childhood, and in teenage years was replaced by the smell of Bacon coming from the kitchen at my Nan’s house.
Forty something years and a health-concern-around-eating-bacon later, I now awake and my first thought is wondering if anyone else in the house is already up so a cup of tea can be dispatched into the bedroom.
Suze likes to listen to the radio overnight so sometimes when I wake up I get the end result of a podcast stream she’s been listening to.
Yesterday morning I heard a familiar voice through the speakers.
It was that of the People’s Poet - Bob Murphy.
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