I had the best intentions of productivity on Sunday, I really did.
I was going to paint a second coat on the attic ceiling and begin to paint the walls before we set off for The Boy's best friend's penthouse for the afternoon.
Somehow I ended up in bed with a cup of chilli chai, writing and then left the house in my pyjamas.
I then spent most of the afternoon lying resplendent on a large purple beanbag, curled in a patch of sunlight like a strange hairless sort of cat.
Oh well - on Saturday I was productive enough clearing both of our cellars.
Cellar one went from this
Cellar two went from this
I've had a cup of chocolate assam with some chocolate Viennese biscuits which were pure unadulterated filth quite frankly. As Dylan Moran would say "I was in Paris recently—they are very good at pleasure. I was walking by a bakery—a boulangerie, which is fun to go into and to say, even—and I went in… a childish desire to get a cake. ‘Give me one of those chocolate guys,’ I said—and I was talking to someone on the street, took a bite… I had to tell them to go away! This thing! I wanted to book a room with it. Proper, serious pleasure!"
After that orgy of chocolate gloriousness I was presented with a glass of wine on an obscenely large coaster and delved into Agnes Gray whilst they watched the football.
After a late lunch I dived into the bath and emerged, broiled to lobster pink perfection and the very picture of relaxation. I cannot WAIT until we get a bath at home. Showers are bullshit!
Once more swallowed by the beanbag of glory I finish my Bronte re-read and turn to Barney's Version. I LONG to see this film - the book is wonderful and besides it stars Dustin Hoffman so what's not to love?
Once the football had finished we had a double bill of Daybreakers (our love.film offering) and Raising Arizona whilst stuffing ourselves with posh crisps and hummus.
Thus my Sunday rolled away dreamily in a haze of late afternoon sunshine - mostly spent with one eye lazily gazing out of the window, the other reading my book whilst football murmurs from the television and my wine warms its way down my gullet.
There's something so seductive about wine and chocolate. Last night we had all been to the cinema to watch True Grit and I was easily corrupted by the offerings of a coconutty, caramelly, toffee chocolate Ice-Cream concoction. It went perfectly with Jeff Bridges - his oh so distinctive voice was frankly made for that of a drawling, gruff cowboy.
Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.
Title: African Night Flight by David Bowie