Lazing on a Sunday afternoon

Sunday's are great. Even when you know that you have to go to work tomorrow, there's something terrifically lazy about Sundays. Even, and here's the odd part, when you're not being lazy. Today, I had a little bit of a lie in, it's true, but not that much. I got up and mum and I went out and did some gardening (and really, as before, I don't mean gardening in the nice, quiet way with little seceteurs and trowels, gently weeding the odd bit of ground elder from where it's not supposed to be, oh no, I mean mass destruction, slash and burn, total annihilation of pretty much everything. Mother and I are waging war on various parts of the garden. Our weapons? A rake, fork, shovel, clippers, saw and the almighty electric hedge trimmer. And a wooden spoon (it's probably if you don't ask...). We've actually accomplished quite a bit, cutting back the catoniastas that have long since hidden a few of the walls in front of the kitchen and the side of the house. We've cleared brambles and pulled up roots and - and believe me, this is quite amazing - the path up to the paddock is completely and utterly clear and visible for the first time in YEARS. In between waging war against the rebel garden, we also found time to go shopping at Somerfields, cook Sunday dinner (roast beef, roast potatoes and yorkshire puds, heaven!), watch the GP (I'm a Button fan, I don't really want to talk about today's fiasco) and herd some sheep. I even got to play on my newly reclaimed PS2 for a little while. Mum and I actually only had to help the neighbours with the last bit as they occasionally keep sheep in our field and were moving some more in today. Lots of little bouncing, baby lambs now occupy the field next to the house. One tried to make a last minute dash for it and, in an attempt to catch it, I made an incredible dive that any rugby player would have been proud of. I missed the lamb, but that's not the point is it? I love Sundays.