Most of the time for me, Sundays are spent curled up in something oversized and fleecy- with the option of additional bed socks and messy top knot. At best I might put some foundation on my face in case the neighbours pop round for a splash of milk, but most of the time lounge wear is totally appropriate for Coronation Street omnibuses and the occasional cookie baking session. Saying that- this probably explains my unintentional habit of dressing completely over the top (and unnecessarily regal) when heading out for a Sunday cooked dinner- regardless of it being at a pub, posh restaurant in the country or my nans house. But hey, when you have a pastel coat and matching shoes- what’s to stop you channelling Her Majesty a little?
On this occasion my family, boyfriend and I made tracks to my nan and grandads humble abode, somewhere I could gladly spend most of my time and somewhere I am always welcomed with a warm cuddle, a cute-as-a-button barking dog and the smell of roast potatoes cooking in the oven. On this particular afternoon we spent time laughing around the dinner table, over indulging in far too many desserts (jelly, chocolate tart, brownies and crumble were just a few options) and becoming nostalgic looking at old photographs of my nan as a young lady (to which we all agreed resembled a certain Miss Hepburn). Which in my opinion, is a pretty perfect way to spend a Sunday.