I spent mine enjoying a traditional Sunday romp in the rural idyll that is England, communing with nature.
This, for those who dont know, translates as getting lots of manure on my shoes, nodding politely at passing ramblers, edging away from the well endowed bull, walking for a couple of miles, limbo-dancing under electric fences, and then fighting for a table along with the countryside's finest and their dogs, tucking into a traditional sunday lunch and a pint, then walking it back off - wondering if I a) I just ate one of the bull's babies and b) if I did, can he smell it?!