Sundays
Sunday was never particularly my favourite day of the week.
As a kid, it meant dressing up in my âSunday bestâ and being dragged off to Mass. Even at that age, I was having my doubts about the whole circus, and would have much preferred to be out heaving rocks at other kids, or some other healthy pursuit.
As I grew older, I rebelled on the Mass business, but then Sundays became the day to suffer the Saturday night hangover. I was still an apprentice drinker in those days, so hangovers on a Sunday were a regular feature. And then there were the fucking daft Sunday drinking laws that meant there was a âholy hourâ from two until four. I mean to say, what the hell is a bloke to do for two hours? And of course they shut up shop at ten again. Fucking hell! There was no respect for the serious drinker at all at all.
In my earlier working days, Sunday was the day I had to do out my timesheets and my travel and subsistence claims. This called for a great deal of creative accounting, as I never kept accurate records of my mileage for the week, and anyway, my actual mileage wouldnât have been worth that much. It was a case of thinking of a number between twenty and a hundred, doubling it, adding fifty and then converting it to kilometres [even though the claim was in miles]. Also I had to remember all the places I was supposed to have been during the week, which wasnât easy as invariably I was at the local pitch and putt, but I couldnât put that down. Stressful times.
Nowadays, Sunday isnât much different from the rest of the days of the week. Herself likes the Sunday Times, which means that the day ends with an incredible amount of paper scattered around the place. Each edition must be the death knell for about an acre of trees. I still am not that fond of it though. Itâs a sort of dead day, where no one is around and I darenât go out [apart from fetching the paper] because of all the nut cases going for their Sunday drives.
Of course the big black mark against Sunday was that it was followed by Monday. That doesnât apply now. Well, of course it does, but Monday doesnât hold any dread any more, because I donât have to go to work.
I used to dislike Sunday because it was followed by Monday.
Now I dislike Sunday because it isnât Monday.
Homework. Putting off the dreaded weekend homework until Sunday night and then struggling with it until the early hours. Ruined Sundays for me for life.
Jesus Grandad as a species aren’t we hard to satisfy. To misquote the Good Book … Look at the lilies in the field and the birds in the air – they don’t give a fuck and still they survive.
Maybe there’s something in that!!!!
Like tt sundays were homework days for me – horrible!
Then I finished school and happy days. Now I’m a teacher and Sunday is a day for marking homework. Not much better than doing it in the first place…
Sundays are OK. Baseball games during the spring,summer and early fall, Football games during late fall and winter and NASCAR Racing almost all year long. Sundays are the best day to just hang around and catch up on my favorite sports or even watch a good movie. Naps! Sunday afternoons are just made for taking a nap. I mean serious napping here. Not that 20 minute power nap stuff! I’m talking about a minimum of an hour here.
TT – Jayzus, but I forgot about homework. There again, I always forgot about it on Sundays too, so that meant doing a full weekend’s homework in ten minutes on Monday morning.
King’s Bard – I’m quite satisfied? I’m looking forward to Monday, when all the city gobshites will be at work, leaving the countryside peaceful once more.
Croeso Weirdo!! Have a heart and don’t give homework for the weekend. OK? They can memorise the entire works of Shakespeare on Monday night instead.
Brianf – If all you can associate Sunday with is sport, then that’s a poor outlook. Fucking hate sport. Naps, yes; sport no.
Today is Mothering Sunday here in the U.S. I believe Fathers’  Day is the same day both sides of the Western Ocean so why Mothers’ Day should be on different days I have no idea.
Sunday was Mothers Day here downunder also. Never seen so many mothers sitting around having picnics. Couple of years ago the shops invented Fathers day so now we have something traditional to look forward to…Â staying in bed seems an option all of a sudden.
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Sunday was always the best day in the week for me – when looked at from a Saturday. It meant I had another day to go before the whole thing started all over again.
Reached the stage now where they’re all the same. Comes with working for yourself, I suppose…
Skip the Sunday Times for a start. If that’s too difficult – then wait till people chuck their old copies out and read them the following weekend. Won’t make any difference to your enjoyment, will save some trees and you the price of it.
King’s Bard has a point. After all (as far as we know..?) animals and birds don’t give the days of the week names, so life is just  one long  series of; sun-up, sun-down, sun-up, sun-down, sunup, sundown, snup, sdown, sup, sdn, sp, sn..ssssssss.
Works for me.
All days are the same here too. But somehow Sunday seems to have a wee smell about it that I can’t quite describe. I don’t know if the birds are aware of it, but they seemed to be a bit more agressive yesterday! I can’t skip the Sunday Times – it keeps herself occupied for ages, so it’s worth the trouble for the peace and quiet I get.
I had a phone call from America yesterday – my brother in law phoned to wish me a happy Mother’s Day. I always said I married into a very strange family.