lifestyle, MyLife
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The dying art of Sunday…

I can’t count how many times I have said this on here, but Sunday’s are so important.

They were once a day of rest; of sitting around the table with your family and made for seeing your good old Granny.

They were together days.

Last night I stayed at my Mum and Dads, as Mr. GTMHTC was away (AKA drinking too much whisky. He is now as pale as mayonnaise) and I just felt like being back there was where I wanted to be – and more so, wake up.

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The view from my parents house is utterly stunning.

In the Spring and through to the Summer, the rolling hills quilted by that silky blue sky just takes your breath away. It’s a fairytale to open your eyes too: Birds sing at your window and you can hear the distant sounds of nature in the wind.

Beautiful.

I came downstairs to the table laid out as it always used to be, set and ready for us to eat breakfast at.

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With the morning sun illuminating the kitchen, we ate breakfast together – a proper English breakfast with “eggs from the market and meat from the butchers”. Mum, I can proudly say, has officially been converted to my way of life, and it was so nice to just talk over some wonderful, homemade food, fresh from a good night’s kip and eager to welcome the day ahead.

Then, me and Dad set off on one of our walks.

We chatted, we laughed, we fed the donkey’s down the country lane by the house: I know, simple right?

We didn’t change the world today but we had a blooming good time.

Time slowed and we weren’t in a rush to get anywhere. The world was still around us, basking in the glorious wonder of Spring as we soaked up the sun and felt the crisp morning air on our cheeks.

I – eventually – went home to finish my bits and bobs and decided that the leg of lamb Mum had on the side this morning was definitely worth going back for.

I know where my breads buttered…

So off I went.

Back around the table, back with Mum and Dad, ending the day where I’d began it.

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This was a British leg of lamb from Booths. Cooked simply with salt, pepper and rosemary, plus hot oil from when the roast potatoes joined it in the oven created the most wonderful taste. It had such a fantastic layer of fat too – an essential element you need when roasting.

And that was my Sunday.

I know that we all have busy lives, with too much do in too little time.

But even if you can spare one Sunday to be with those you love most, sharing thoughts, words and great food, I genuinely believe we’d all be a little happier.

There isn’t a better feeling than being home.

There’s also no better taste than the food that reminds you of home.

The tradition of sitting around the table on a Sunday is a dying one, but even if it’s for ten minutes in a morning over a coffee and a piece of toast, it’s ten minutes to connect before you speed off in to a day that is gone before you know it…

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