so on weekends when we're not at morning football or hungover, Sunday morning in the Spangly/ChelseaBoy household tends to mean cleaning. If the two of you clean the flat together it doesn't take too long, though we seem to have the dustiest location in the world - I think it's the smog, as the Italians call it, coming in through the windows. Roman air: not that clean. So repeat dusting is always the order of the day.
Today is a gorgeous sunny day which means washing the floors and doing two loads of laundry so they can dry on the balcony - nothing is more depressing than the endless way wet washing hangs around in the winter on an airing rack in the living room, drying infinitesimally slowly and making you feel like you live in a damp cupboard under the stairs.
Sunday morning breakfast of fresh cornetti (Italian style croissants) from the baker round the corner served with home made lemon curd (so tasty, so unhealthy) helped get us off to a good start. Now everything is clean from top to bottom and smells faintly of lavendar, the sun is shining, the balcony door is open to let some fresh (ish) air in, and a nice chilli/tomato pasta lunch has finished the whole thing off. This means the afternoon is free to finish preparing for tomorrow's classes, read some more of Neal Stephenson's The System of the World, maybe play some more Assassin's Creed II on the Xbox, and knit a bit more of the blue & white scarf I'm making for CB.
However the essential prerequisite for companionable sunday morning cleaning is the correct sound-track: no music, no mopping. Today's sparkly clean assortment was: Vampire Weekend, Kano, the La's and classic 80s Jamaican dancehall. Fundamentally you need to be able to sing along and/or jig whilst cleaning.