Humour: Easy like Sunday morning

The tea is on the boil. The music is on. The bed is undone. And the day smells of newsprint and possibility. We are, by and large, a species doomed to fall into clichés, but as I limp into my fourth decade, I’m coming to terms with this predisposition. What’s more, I’ve even begun to rank my favourite clichés, for we are also a species given to obsessive list-making. Let me hereby announce – while running the risk of sounding like a corporate automaton that only breathes over the weekend – that the Sunday morning feeling is quite unmatched. Its very manifesto states: This is when thou shalt relax. But that’s where the trouble begins, for yet another human trait dictates that where there is a command, there is non-compliance.