I woke at, by any reasonable measure, a ridiculously early hour this Sunday; I’m not sure whether it was work still playing on my mind, or just the heavy dinner from the night before, whichever it may have been it was accompanied by the all too familiar ache in my side crying out for pain killers.
Leaving Dave slumbering I fumbled around the bedroom, eventually pulling on my favourite rugby top, a pair of moth-eaten old jeans and the softest socks I could find, before making my way to the bathroom, downing a few pain killers then padding through the house opening the blinds taking in the rainy morning before making my way to the kitchen going through the familiar motions of making a strong morning cup from tea that we seem to buy in excess from Whittards on Kensington High Street every couple of weekends.
Supping my tea at the open French windows there’s that wonderful soul cleansing freshness in the air, the sort that only a rainy morning can bring, and as the rain is coming down in slow and steady sheets the one thing that’s evident more than anything else is just how cold it is – it’s unusually cold for May, all the more so considering the heat we’d enjoyed throughout April.
I can hear the distant rumble of the westway above the pitter-patter of the rain, but other than that it’s quiet, the wood pigeons are cooing in the direction of Holland Park, and it’s still that glorious time of day that’s just before London’s gets going, and being a Sunday there’s no chance of the peace being shattered by Porsche Cayenne’s thundering up and down Campden Hill Road filled with Notting Hill über-mummies delivering their numerous offspring to any number of the hideously expensive private schools that scatter the whole area.
I’m wondering what to do, this is the earliest I’ve been up on a Sunday for as far back as I care to remember, so having finished my tea I decide it’s too cold and wet to warrant braving the weather for a Sunday paper, so instead I bunk down for an hour with a book and leaving Radio 4 on, ignoring the less than soothing tones of Sunday Worship. Quite why they still have that programme on is beyond me, in our secular society you’d think we’d be above wasting tax payers pennies on religious programming, but Radio 4, like the seasons carries on regardless.
It’ll be interesting to see where we end up in the coming months, I’ll miss this view across the roof tops of Kensington and Notting Hill, but with the building having been granted planning permission for ‘re-conversion’ into two massive quad-plex apartments the death knell is tolling on this particular building, hopefully the next house we get will be nicer thanks to a larger budget, and won’t have the usual rush of one lease to another, which almost always influences what you actually end up buying – more so than I suspect most people would like to admit.