Sundays are for realising that he's coming. That he's inevitable. That, in a way, he's already here. You feel him…
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Sundays are for realising that he's coming. That he's inevitable. That, in a way, he's already here. You feel him…
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Sundays are for turning finally accepting it’s become Big Coat Weather by stripping off the nine-month-old dry cleaning plastic sheath…
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Sundays are for remembering how to write on paper. I used to fill A4 notepads with scribbles as an undergrad…
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Sundays are for waking up alongside a hilariously beautiful partner. They turn over and whisper softly in your ear that…
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Sundays are for sleeping off your fourth 10-hour flight in two weeks, assuming you in fact can sleep, and have…
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Sundays are for landing on a mysterious planet. At first, the surface seems barren, a dusty sheet of paper stretching…
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Sundays are for getting your 10,000 steps in, apparently. I bring this up specifically because I’ve been crap at exercising…
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Good morning, weekend wanderer of the World Wide Washout. Or if it isn't morning where you are, good afternoon. Or…
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Sundays are for laughing at your sat nav's American voiceover lady when, as you're visiting Northamptonshire for the first time,…
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Sundays are for working out what to do with about 200 apples and 50 pears. The parks round here are…
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