He’s the opposite, one of those fabled night owls who would sleep till 11 in the morning, revelling in bed while the world cracks on outside, still wide awake at 1 in the morning, listening to the city’s night sounds.
This could have caused problems but since the creation of my retreat (aka the spare room), it doesn’t. I creep out of bed, make myself tea, greet the cat and come back up into the retreat to read and gently ease myself into the day.
At weekends, I treat myself to breakfast in bed, nothing too fancy or messy. Today there’s sourdough bread, honey and cherries from the farm shop, peanut butter (my food addiction and strictly limited so I don’t end up having to be craned out of the house) and a nectarine because it had hit that sweet ripe spot overnight. A copy of Bloom to browse through because recently I’ve lost concentration for books.
It’s been a tough week for many reasons, so I’m resetting this weekend. No Twitter, no news, limited online time. And lots of good food.
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