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Aye, a canny saturday, like. Somewhat pervaded by Penelope Wilton, who's in a play I'm working on and then was in Dr Who that night.
The Guardian is an absolutely vital part of my saturdays. If I'm not reading the Guide on the tube to work, then working through the Weekend magazine and the quick crossword during a matinee, then I'd fear the consequences. Sorry Mice, but I can't stand Judy Rumbold, so I never read her musings. Never thought they could get someone more annoying than Julie Birchall... There's also something of a ritual of dumping the sport/business/jobs sections (unread) in the recycling bin to lighten the load for the journey home.
Whisky Priestess, your getting-up abilities strongly resemble my own. I really did intend to try and get out early enough to see the marathon go past the bottom of my road this morning, but what seemed like a great idea at the time was clearly a child's fantasy come the actual chance, even despite the fact Penelope Wilton was running in it...
Sunday routines seem to ever increasingly involve watching "Best 100..." type programmes, which is wrong, yet I cannot resist. |
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