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It’s Sunday, it’s 7pm and I am exhausted.  Completely shattered – aren’t I supposed to feel awesome on Sunday evenings – you know, all relaxed and ready for the week ahead? At 7pm on Sundays growing up, I remember being seated in front of the TV, all clean and bathed with my pink fleece and satin dressing gown on, with my hair in the blow drier bag thing, whilst I watched the Muppets.  I think I’m doing Sundays wrong.

Roll on half term…

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