Sunday is a Tea Day

Some people hold to the idea that the way the day starts is an indication of how the rest of their 24 hours will evolve. If the day starts well, everything will be fine, if however you get out of bed on the wrong foot, if your car crashes on the way to work, if you find a dead cat in your yard, or spill mustard all down your freshly pressed white blouse… then the rest of the day will ‘obviously’ be a no-no.

I do not really think that’s true.

BUT there is one exception.

I never have breakfast in the morning. I never did for as long as I can remember. It’s not how I was raised. Mornings were always rushed breathless affairs. There were always teeth to be brushed, clothes to be worn hurriedly before the school bus arrived, and since I always preferred sleep to food, mornings were always calculated to maximize that. When I was a child and then a teen, I always slept as much as possible and then had 20 minutes at most to freshen up and dress before heading out. And that has not changed today.

Pic Source: blog.core-ed

I start work very early. At 6.45am to be specific. Waking up an hour before that means I have 30 minutes to shower, do my face, and get dressed before hitting the road, and there isn’t time for breakfast or even for drinking something hot, during those 30 minutes of panic.

That changes once I actually arrive at work, since I am always the first one to get there. I hang my bag and my jacket, switch on my pc, arrange my stuff just so, and then, and only then, take five minutes to enjoy a good cup of ‘wake-me-up’ coffee. Of course, it’s only after the second cup, an hour or so later, that my foggy brain actually starts perking up a bit. But it’s a start.

Pic Source: commercialcafe.com

Starting my day with coffee means it’s going to be a busy, practical PRODUCTIVE kind of day. It means I mean business. That I know I have a lot of stuff to do, and that I’m absolutely going to dig in and do it to the best of my abilities. And this is how I start most of my days – from Monday to Saturday to be precise. I do not work on Saturdays. Not at my job at least. However having your own home also means having chores and household duties, which all tend to pile up during the week, and which therefore have to be tackled on Saturdays.

So yes, I still get up pretty early on the first day of the weekend. I drink my coffee, and start polishing furniture, (trying to) polish mirrors, tackle those bathrooms (because unfortunately, they never get clean by themselves) and wash the floors. Meanwhile, my other half takes care of the laundry and goes to the store to buy bread, milk, eggs, etc. My second cup of coffee usually sees me cooking lunch.

And then… Sunday comes round.

Blessed Sunday when there is no job to go to, no chores to do, no housework to finish, and (usually) nothing in particular to worry about or rush towards.

Pic Source: rebloggy.com

Sunday is a tea day.

I wake up late. My so brings me tea in bed. I sip it slowly while I peruse social media, then I go shower, emerge sleepily and softly, look around me, happily confirming the fact that I AM FREE FOR THE DAY. TOTALLY FREE! Free to go out and enjoy myself with friends, free to indulge in a solo swim if I want to, free for a kiss and a cuddle (or two) with my beloved hunk. Most importantly, free to READ, CHILL and DO NOTHING ELSE for hours and hours at a time.

Oh yes, Sunday is definitely a tea day. The only thing I need to worry about, is whether to dunk my biscuit or just eat it.

Pic Source: greeting-day

Missing the cottage… yes more about Ireland ;p

When you live in a European island which is famed for its sun and beaches, where 9 months out of 12 you are sweating in the too-warm temperatures while wearing a sleeveless top and flip flops, and where it has only snowed a couple of times (literally) in the historical memory of the place, going on holiday somewhere in the mountains where the temperature habitually varies between -1.5 and 3.5 degrees celsius on a good day IS A BIG DEAL.

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In all of my life, I have never seen snow yet, not even when abroad more’s the pity – I have never been in extremely cold temperatures, not even when I visited the Dolomite mountains, and I have never been skiing. As an islander who takes hot weather, days at the beach, ice cream, and fun in the sun, as an everyday occurence, I can hardly imagine what living in such weather could be like.

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Right now, anyone reading this who actually does live somewhere cold, must think I’m crazy to want to experience such a thing. But really, I think one of the goals in life is to experience as much as possible, so living somewhere different in different conditions, is for me, something to do at least once.

Although I did not see and feel snow on my face and around me in Ireland this December, it WAS an experience. I literally froze my fingers off at times, still, coming to our rented self-catering cottage in the evenings, lighting the stove, and huddling under the blankets while sipping some hot tea, was awesome in itself. Something I had read about only in novels.

Our cottage was just lovely. Really small – having only one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room and a kitchen, yet totally perfect.

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Here is the link to its page on Tripadvisor – my review is actually still pending as of now, but I guess you might be able to read it at a later date – I left a 5-star rating ofc!

http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/VacationRentalReview-g212097-d2222755-THE_GRANARY_country_holiday_cottage_with_open_fire_in_Cahir_Ref_8661-Cahir_County_Tipp.html

When the weather is so unkind, finding a little unlooked for friendliness gives one an unconditioned and natural warmth, one which is only to be felt in the heart. We arrived at the cottage on a very cold morning at around 1.30am. We had had no time to buy any food for our breakfast and expected our arrival to be pretty hard, since the owner was leaving us the key in a flower pot near the door. We were so wrong! As we parked, we could see the flickering welcoming light of the stove in the living room and the lampshade near the sofa sending us a cheery light – the owner had prepared them for us to show us the way and keep the place warm.

Also, when we went in, we realized she had left us some home-made scones for our breakfast togather with some butter, jam, tea, coffee, sugar and milk… it felt so good to know that someone cared for us in a country were we did not know anyone! Small touches of welcome and friendship from someone we did not know were so much welcome. 🙂

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