Catching the worm

I remember watching a TV programme a few years ago, which featured a couple of children talking about why they voluntarily started their day so early.

A young girl commented that she rose at 5.30am as she didn’t want to waste any of the day and there was lots that she wanted to do.

Whilst 5.30am is a bit of a stretch for me personally, I was up in good time for a Sunday morning on a childless weekend as I wanted to finish the van project as well as finishing off the youngest’s bedroom.

Either side of watching the close of the Premier League season, I am astonished to declare that I completed both self-assigned tasks - even making time for a mint Magnum from the garage and to take a photo of my neighbours amazing wisteria.

Post a lazy ordered-in tea, I took a short walk before heading home, pausing briefly to watch the midges dance in a sliver of golden light, the last of the day’s sun cutting between the chimneys and alighting on my doorstep as if as it were a gift just for me at the end of a busy day.

Maybe there’s something to this getting up a bit earlier lark after all?