Sunny Sundays, like today, were particularly taunting. One of the reasons, to this day, I mostly find bright sunlight depressing.
Once I hit 15 and pubs came into the equation, Sundays became even more crap. A day which is totally unencumbered by other obligations like school or work, and the bastards have the pubs closed for most of the day.
It could have been worse. At least I was in England. Licensing laws were even more annoying in Scotland and Wales on Sundays.
I'd already escaped to foreign-land before they loosened all this shit up in Britain. I remain equivocal about Sunday. Hard to love a day I hated so much through all my childhood.
The gin and tonics Dolores prepares at Sunday noon are helping. And not having work on Monday.
I've almost come to terms with Sunday. Once the shittiest day of the week. Almost.
Sunday Brunch helps - when Mark Dredge doesn't zone out. And there are Yorkshire puddings. That was always the best part of Sunday. The Yorkshire puddings. Now I know how to make them myself.
The worst part of Sunday has disappeared forever: going to work the next day. That always used to depress the shit out of me on Sunday evening.
Happy, happy, fun times from now on.