Bank Holidays Then and Now: A Love Letter to Slow Mornings

There was a time — not that long ago — when a bank holiday meant pub crawls that started before noon, loud music, sticky dance floors, and laughing with friends until the streetlights flickered on and the kebab van called our names. My twenties were filled with those kinds of Mondays. Messy, fun, gloriously chaotic.

But now, in my forties, bank holidays look very different. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

These days, I wake slowly. No alarm, no rush. Just a warm bed, a cooler room, and the comforting sound of birds outside the window. I sit for a while, wrapped in a dressing gown that’s been washed so many times it’s perfectly soft. I cradle my morning coffee like it’s a ritual — because it is.

Gone are the pub crawls. Now, I potter.

I might tidy a drawer that’s been quietly annoying me for weeks. Or snip deadheads off the lavender. Maybe I’ll make a herbal tea and stand barefoot in the garden while the dog noses around. Sometimes I don’t even get dressed until lunchtime, and I feel no guilt about it. That’s the beauty of this season of life — you stop chasing and start being.

And that’s not to say I don’t miss those wild Mondays now and again. The stories, the spontaneity, the questionable shots of something blue. But this version of a bank holiday — slow, soft, unhurried — feels like a gift I didn’t even know I’d asked for.

So if you find yourself doing very little this Monday, just know you’re not alone. Maybe we’re all just older, wiser, and more in love with the quiet than we ever imagined we’d be.

Happy Bank Holiday. May your kettle be full, your house gently messy, and your day exactly as slow as you need it to be.