MONDAY: We meet again… another fun-filled; cocktail-induced weekend of gallivanting around Melbourne becomes all but a distant memory. Gone are the moments of spontaneity and letting loose and all that is left is a discouraging floor-drobe reminding me of the fight I had with my wardrobe on Friday night, pre-Chapel-Street-adventures.
There is something so lackadaisical, even soul crushing about the commencement of a Monday. The sun doesn’t shine as bright on a Monday, coffee doesn’t taste as good on a Monday and well, forget about any possibility of a good hair day (especially after a big weekend of leaving your wallet at the club and your dignity on the dance-floor) because that is just not going to happen for you on a Monday.
Although there is no cure to Monday-itis, my perfectly placed (and by no means pre-organised) collection of tiffany-blue favourites is slightly subsiding the pain. Not to mention my morning tea tastes so much better served in elegant, classical, Royal Albert China…It is unlikely I will ever drink from a normal teacup again.