It’s Sunday. I’ve been sat on my settee since about 3pm this afternoon. The fire is roaring, we’ve had hot chocolate with squirty cream and next to me is a few leftover slices of pear and ginger traybake.
It is utter, utter bliss.
The urge to hibernate is becoming more powerful as I become increasingly aware of the seasons. As we approach Halloween, as the evenings become darker, as we’re forced to do less outside, as the rain comes and the wind begins to howl down the chimney, I finally allow myself to relax. On a Sunday I have the need to be in front of the fire early in the afternoon covering my legs with a blanket; surrounding myself with books and notebooks.
Next to me on the table is an assortment of books and magazines reflecting the time of year. Right now it includes books on hygge as well as Dead Man’s Folly by Agatha Christie. I like to tie in my reading with the yearly celebrations. Mind you, I can’t do ghost stories. But I adore a classic murder mystery. If I’m lucky there might be a re-run of Miss Marple on the TV, too, based around an old manor house surrounded by trees and the forbidding darkness. (There is always a female fox crying out in murder mysteries, which always gives me the chills.)