Even as a child, I had an inkling that Sunday morning was culturally held to be the laziest part of the week. But for me, it always marked the highest-pressure situation a five-year-old could ever experience. Because Armenian school started at 10.30am. And I hadn’t done my homework. I had never done my homework.
Every Sunday would be the same. I would wake up/be woken up. I’d drag myself downstairs/my parents would coax me downstairs with the promise of a thrilling breakfast cereal, maybe, or something exciting (Stevie Nicks, David Bowie – George Michael’s Careless Whisper, if I was lucky) on the hifi.
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