Sundays, over the past few years, were spent proclaiming I was dying after having been out until the sun decided to get up, dancing the night away with girlfriends in SoHo and drinking margaritas like there was set to be a tequila drought in London. Now, I still like a dance, I still like a margarita and I definitely still like a night out, but I’ve also got into the school of thought that weekends – especially Sundays – are rather precious, and should be spent enjoying the day, rather than a gloomy bed day of Hangxiety.
