Sunday lunch

We didn't have a service at our village church, where I'm churchwarden, because we were joining with the other villages in the group, so I went to the service in the next village. I didn't cycle - it's four miles, two of them uphill and I got going a bit late this morning because of the change in the hour and because Sunday morning is a splendid opportunity to stay in bed and cuddle my husband. I biked into town for the papers, then got in the car and drove to Alburgh. It's quite cyclable, actually (I don't really do hills) as its a steady uphill rise rather than hills, and none of those wasteful dips down that lose you all the ground you've gained.

The result was that I arrived home nearly an hour earlier than usual, and briefly contemplated going to the pub - but by that time I was hungry as I'd only had dry toast for breakfast. So I scrubbed and cut up a carrot and some celery, toasted another slice of lovely organic nutty bread from the wholefood shop, added a couple of teaspoons of cottage cheese and ate them with half a litre of St Peter's Brewery Best Bitter. A splendid use of those calories saved on the food, I thought. I feel mellow and content now.

I love drinking at lunchtime. It's my biggest treat, almost, because it's quite rare. Actually, the other day I came in cold and tired and had a big bowl of homemade minestrone soup and a glass of sherry. That was a pleasure, too. I drink most evenings, but not often at lunchtime. Best of all is when there's an excuse to start in late morning and just keep going. But that's Christmas and the occasional wedding or funeral. It wouldn't make sense to do it regularly.

I can stop, you know. Any time at all...