October 16 marks the international World Spine Day. This years theme is 'Straighten up and Move'. To mark this special occasion I did exactly the opposite and ended up walking out with a spine actually aching from spending the Sunday mostly in bed.

But I proudly proclaim here this to be a very special thing and I cherish my back pain as a poignant reminder of my own personal evolution into admittedly flawed and sometimes gloriously lazy human being.

Some hundred odd years ago I'd definitely be doing Gertrude Stein (in being a focal point and an organiser of social life, not the lesbian escapades), relentlessly bringing together confluences of people and talent in my 27 rue de Fleurus apartment, that would maybe not help define modernism in literature and art, but definitely produce some banging cocktails and above all - memories.

Memories of things we did and experienced together, not the things we've sent each other on WhatsApp.

Sadly, I don't live in the early twentieth century Paris, so my ambition is the one of constant balance on the verge of denunciating all my friends and changing for a quiet hermit life in Siberia, just me and a pack of yorkshire terriers.

I've almost lost a few friends to a constant push for actually making friendship happen in the real life, outside the instant messenger. Because - friendship lesson number one - people don't want to be made feel lazy and mainly just want to be left alone.

Especially when you live in a City (and time) where mindfulness and mediation is all the rage, yet people are still remarkably not chilled (still being very polite about it - this is Britain after all) and getting inappropriately excited over plans with friends being cancelled.

It's because no one here sleeps enough, we pay too much for trains, that either don't come on time or take forever to take you to your workplace, where you sit for too long and every time you find a sufficiently funny otter or kitten video on Facebook to actually make you regain some of the hope in life aka expectation of good things to come, you glance at the apocalypse outside the window and your zen along with any motivation to do anything extra on top of zombie-inching through your workday towards 6pm, falls through the floor.

The perpetual gaping threat of void that comes with trying to do life and love and friendship in a city like London, made me to hysterically dedicate my weekends to as many social catchups as I can possibly cram in those two days.

Unfortunately - again - to be off on Saturday and Sunday in London as oppose to odd days during the week - makes you actually a freak of nature, so to see multiple friends as a part of one flat party or picnic on the weekend, is mostly utopia and whoever is ready to socialise with you during the week after work is either nineteen, on drugs, or not living in London (and hence commuting home for hours and really just wanting to see Netflix and not your stupid face after the working hours), which makes them not the most ideal candidates in my eyes.

And so in one of the most profound evolutionary leaps of the late decade, I'm slowly training myself of letting go a bit.

Slowing down and enjoying the standstill, with no repenting and no remorse. As a part of this new therapy, and also to be able to just 'do us' for a change, I had David coming to spend a Sunday at mine. We have found ourselves to be at the flat alone, which happens exactly NEVER, with no need to pay attention to anyone and anything else but each other (and also pooping in the bathroom with no lock on the door gets much more manegeable without a 4-year-old bursting in all the time).

A quiet Sunday with video games, I'm always in. Just don't let me have those three cups of coffee.

We made a glorious breakfast feast with couscous, avocado, sundried tomatoes, mozarella, chicken, honeydew melon, romanesco cauliflower & a fucking raspberry vignarette, the whole bourgeoisie lot, put on the fairy lights, threw some frozen raspberries and pineapple into the prosecco, smoked and played video games (Life is Strange - if you haven't go and play now. NOW!), caught up on American Horror Story (disturbing) and Westworld (really effin disturbing), and effectively never left the bed.

I only walked for a little bit in the evening to see David to his bus home and also to get a coconut water in Tesco, cause yes, I'm constantly on the brink of bankruptcy, but boohoo yes I felt like I couldn't do without it.

On my way back to the flat, to meet the bare bones of the chicken and empty chocolate wrappers and soggy fruit at the bottom of the prosecco glasses and bits of tobacco and other smokable plants demanding cleaning from my bed, to mark the end of the scandalous Sunday indulgence, I thought for a moment:

Wow. This all feels so natural and like this is the only way life can be, and how exciting/intimidating it is to think that one day we'll remember the lazy Sundays at West Norwood, the American Horror Story or playing video games, as something from a distant past, a lifestyle and conditions and maybe people and country long gone from our day-to-day reality.

Let's hope at least I'll still enjoy prosecco the same way.