Sunday is a special day for me. It is the day when, despite having a long to-do list, I ignore all those nagging chores and instead spend the whole day doing small nothings - those things that would make me happiest. A bath, for instance. Sunday afternoon, when the rain pours, that is the perfect time for a bath. One of those baths where you end up reading three chapters of your book as the water becomes tepid, and the pages get all crinkled where you turn them.
Or perhaps a walk, Sunday is a great day for walking. One of the most enjoyable combinations I have experienced in life is this: Sunday, walking, in Stockbridge. Stockbridge is that small area of Edinburgh that was once a village, outside of the city walls, and is now a village, inside the city walls. It has a distinctly bohemian feeling, having long been the abode of painters and poets, boutique and brothel owners. I love to walk through Stockbridge, beside the waters of the Leith, to the market to buy myself a warm pie. I eat it while still walking, this time towards the botanic gardens where I can watch the squirrels and smell the variously coloured roses...
When I walk, I like to sing to all the birds and the small critters, and to the river or the trees.