The mind floats free on Sunday mornings now that Foxy has taken his long walk to the stars.
I wake to read the first forty marvellous pages of Orhan Pamuk's Museum Of Innocence, and am seduced by his smooth talk in to a mental quicksand, up to my eyebrows in other people's complexities.
Then I try to finish a letter to Linda but stumble to a halt over this question ...
How will my grandson understand the difference between a non sequitur and an oxymoron if I am not there ?
Then I discover that I can change the settings on my cheap printer to scan postcards in wonderful detail.
... all this before eight o clock.