We get the shopping done and K gets busy in the kitchen making a stew for tonight's dinner. I help out, a little, by making dumplings from flour, butter and herbs (a quite fun, tactile bit of cooking that is so embarrassingly simple that I get quite a lot of pleasure from not immediately cocking it up) and chucking them in the bubbling pot. Next, the doorbell goes and Alex is here - we're off to the Hope and Anchor to meet Will and watch the Man City v Arsenal game. I kiss K goodbye and promise to be back for dinner at a reasonable hour. The game kicks off at 4, so I make vague (but eminently keepable) nods at the idea of being home by 8, not pissed and ready for a nice Sunday night in.
We get to the pub and grab a comfy if unusual seat on the sofa at the back of the pub and wait for Will to arrive. It's been a while since I've seen the lanky one and it's fun to catch up while Arsenal (helped by an extremely early red card) run riot and beat City 3-0. After the game we play a bit of darts before getting involved in the winner-stays-on pool rotation. This is a bad idea, not just because this pub attracts some very, very good pool players on a Sunday night (I am told, at one point, that I'm playing against a former world number 57) - but because the night slips away from us just as fast as my phone battery.
When Alex and I are queuing up at Pizza Go-Go at 11pm, I know I'm probably in some trouble. I survive the killer look I get when I step in the door, heat up some stew and basically keep my head down until bedtime. I'm going to have to do some serious sucking up this week.
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