has suited me very happily today. Idled the morning away with Donna Tartt's The Secret History (better late than never), followed by a long dog/boy/horse walk in the woods near Hawling. When we got home, tradition decreed an Easter Egg hunt, even though the offspring are now much too grown up for this really (specially in the miniscule garden at Privet Drive, where coming up with any hiding places at all was almost too much for my weary brain).
They did rather better hiding some indoor eggs for the parents...this one would still be baffling us, were it not for a clue based on Ferdinand the Bull, whom, as you may recall, "liked to sit just quietly and smell the flowers".
I'm rather depressed, though, that in the process of searching the sitting and dining rooms I became so horribly aware of the general level of mess and muddle that I may actually have to spend the next couple of hours cleaning. Somehow, that really doesn't match my idea of a recuperation day, so perhaps I'll simply take out my contact lens and pretend that I see no evil whatsoever!