THERE was a time when Sunday morning didn't exist. At least to me it didn't.

Saturday nights were there to be enjoyed, right through until the early hours.

Rarely did I, or any of my friends, surface from under the duvet before noon.

And, before our children came along, my husband and I were the same, revelling in the opportunity to slumber for a few extra hours.

Now we're up with the larks.

Early-rising children have a lot to do with that, but even when I'm given the opportunity for a lie in, I don't take advantage of it beyond 10am.

Try as I might, and however exhausted I am, I simply can't sleep in. And I'm not alone.

The Sunday morning lie in is fast disappearing as people choose more active things to do.

A new study discovered that almost a quarter of people get up for work, 55 per cent go shopping, and 17 per cent get up early to play sport.

That's why I can't lie in on Sundays - there's just too much going on.

There's as much, if not more, traffic flowing past our house than during the week.

All around, there are people heading into town to shop, both in the car and on foot, and others loading giant, team-sized sports bags into the backs of vehicles.

Add to that the number of households giving their property the usual Sunday DIY blitz, and it makes for a lot of banging, roaring, clattering and shouting.

Not at all conducive to peaceful repose.

Sundays aren't what they used to be.

In the days before Sunday trading you only ever got disturbed on the Sabbath if you lived next door to a church (to which only six per cent of us go, according to the study by an electrical chain store that is, incidentally, open on Sundays).

The only other sounds you were likely to hear throughout the entire day were lawn mowers and the odd barking dog.

Of course people used their cars, but only for trips up to take in views in national parks.

Now the term Sunday Driver is virtually obsolete.

People drive aggressively and purposefully as they race to out-of-town shopping centres - just like they do the rest of the week.

There's so much going on that we feel pressurised to get up and do something.

It's as if there's a huge magnet dragging us to Tesco, B&Q, or the latest designer outlet to spring up.

I'll be the first to admit, it's handy being able to shop on Sundays, but it's not something we couldn't manage without.

At least when everything was closed we didn't feel guilty about staying at home to watch an old movie or going for a stroll in the fresh air.

I miss the Sundays when, as a student, I'd walk half a mile to the nearest corner shop for a Fray Bentos tinned pie and a vastly overpriced can of beans.

And, amazingly, that was in London.

I used to hate the old-style Sundays for being sluggish, quiet and depressingly different.

Now I hate the new Sundays for being hectic, hassle-packed and depressingly similar.

I've come around to thinking that we need a day of rest.

At least I do.