Escaping the Sunday terror

I'm coming round to the idea that there's a point to the Sunday evening murder mystery and nostalgic feelgood series such as Heartbeat.

After a hearty Sunday lunch finished off with too much red wine and a snooze on the sofa before the evening's lightweight TV entertainment starts, there's little else but the remnants of the weekend's glossy supplements to see out our 48 hours of freedom.

Inevitably, if you're an overthinking worryhound, the impending work week is likely to fill that cerebral void. An empty head will soon be filled with all sorts of nonsense, most of it inconsequential.

That's where the power of distraction comes in. Just another comedy quiz; a few more minutes on Facebook, a final cup of tea. The wind down at the end of the weekend fills me with dread. Knowing there's work undone, the final thoughts of a review to tie down and a chaotic mess of unironed office clothes to address and sort into potential weekday outfits, I'll discover a fascinating article to read or unearth a documentary that's been taking up valuable hard disk space for months.

There's something about a Sunday evening, though, that makes it an impossible part of the week to pick up a book. I can peruse the shelves and scan the blurb on the dust jacket and paperback, but I just can't seem to start a new novel at the end of the weekend.

Saturday morning and the joy of a few hours of uninterrupted reading - now you're talking. Monday, Tuesday, even Wednesday or Thursday are wonderful nights to spend with a book. But give me a Sunday and I'll toss and turn, fret and frown and do anything but sleep a refreshing sleep. Oh, what is it about the approach of the work week that makes me long to but unable to read?