There is a very specific kind of joy that only exists on a Bank Holiday Monday when you have absolutely nowhere to be. No alarms, no “better get moving” because you’ve arranged to go out. Just that slow moment where your eyes open naturally and the first thing you notice is sunlight creeping through the curtains like it has personally arrived to congratulate you on surviving another day. You lie there for a minute or three, maybe more; wasn’t looking at the time because for once in a blue moon, time does not exist today.
Outside, the world is suspiciously quiet. No hedge trimmers screaming into life at 8:03am. No neighbour aggressively power-washing a driveway that was already perfectly clean. No child bouncing repeatedly on a trampoline while practising the recorder. Silence, real silence.
It feels almost illegal, like something prohibited; naughty but nice. Then comes the urge, but not a productive work urge – not the sort you see on LinkedIn first thing on a Monday morning that you guess was probably scheduled. My urge today was to go downstairs still in my negligee (how decadent, but at least I know there won’t be any deliveries today that I have to open the door to), make a cuppa, and pick up a book. That’s it; no goals, “life admin” the weeding can wait until later… or even tomorrow.
Just tea and pages – kettle on. Wash up your son’s dinner dishes from last night (got to keep up the kitchen fairy image) while the tea brews then grab my cup and sink back into the armchair a friend gave me when she moved from the riding school farmhouse – it’s perfect to relax by the patio doors. Even the tea tastes calmer on these mornings; scientifically impossible perhaps, but emotionally correct.
Then comes the book selection because it has to fit the vibe. A Bank Holiday Monday book cannot be stressful. Nobody should be solving murders before noon on a day like this, I wanted something comforting, to pair with the sunlight streaming in. Something that allows my brain to wander off halfway through a paragraph because the sunbeam on the carpet suddenly became fascinating. More Thomas Hardy than John Grisham… and for a little while, life stops, time stands still.
Just stillness; the older I get, the more I realise bliss is rarely dramatic; it is not fireworks or days spent on a Sunseeker in the Med. For today, it is this: a quiet house, the sunlight through the windows, my chins cuppa within reach (tea always tastes better in a china cup) a book open on my lap and absolutely nobody mowing a lawn before 9am.
There is also something oddly emotional about these mornings because they feel temporary while they are happening. Even as you sit there enjoying it, part of your brain whispers, “This will end in about six hours and tomorrow somebody will say ‘hope you had a relaxing break’ before ruining your peace with a spreadsheet.”
Which almost makes me hold onto the moment tighter; I noticed tiny things like the pigeons trying to steal peanuts from the feeders I topped up yesterday evening, the sound of pages turning, the way tea cools gradually while you forget to drink it because you’ve drifted into thought. The fact my shoulders are no longer somewhere near my ears for the first time in weeks.
Bank Holiday Mondays without plans are deeply underrated because they give you something modern life rarely allows: permission to simply exist for a bit without any performance, optimisation or urgency – just peace.
And honestly, if the sun keeps shining and nobody starts drilling walls nearby, I am beginning to quietly wonder whether moving from the chair today is even necessary at all…
