Domesticado

Domesticated.

The windows rattled through the night thanks to a nearby concert. I had to read until my face kept repeatedly falling onto the pages in order to fall asleep through the noise.

I had a fairly domesticated day, which was surprisingly enjoyable. Most Sundays so far this year I’ve shopped (healthily), cooked (sweatily) and prepped food (wholesomely) for the week ahead. It’s probably what humanity has been doing since the Monday-Friday working week was coined, but I’m a recent convert, having been much more likely in recent years to reach for an emergency packet of biscuits for dinner. Even with this short period of organisation and despite dropping my shopping list on the way to the supermarket today, I’ve certainly surpassed 2019’s achievements. Batching up food with old episodes of Coronation Street in the background is a Sunday evening I’d recommend to folks. By ‘eck it is.

As I strolled around today I came across this discarded bottle of Amarula next to a junction. Someone had a raucous and quintessentially southern African Saturday night.