Sunday evening
Eating cheese & pickle on oatcakes and drinking tea in front of the telly with my sister. Other than the wheat-free substitution this could be any given Sunday for the past 25 years. The programmes would change (The Onedin Line, The Forsythe Saga, Howards Way…) but the warmth and the comfort remained the same.
It feels right this evening. I’ve got this strange icky feeling about the week ahead. I woke up this morning from a series of anxiety dreams about all manner of things and the comfort of the normal is just that… a comfort.
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