As much as I can, I carefully guard my Sunday mornings from any form of hustle and ambition. No alarm clocks, no obligations, nothing tugging at my sleeve. Even brunch plans are carefully negotiated into a late lunch time slot. I am adamant: Sunday mornings are reserved for a gentle, gradual wake-up on a gentle, quiet schedule. Slow entry. Sloth time. There's nowhere to go and nothing to do but make endless cups of tea to be drunk in bed with whichever novel I've been trying to finish pr...