Sundays are rubbish

Sundays are rubbish for so many reasons, but mainly because they mean that:

Tomorrow

= Monday

= Oh dear Lord please how much more of this torture?

= if you feel like that, you need a new job

= but there are fewer and fewer jobs in your field

= but you hate your field anyway

= you'll have to re-train

= you'll have to take a MASSIVE pay cut for a number of years

= you'll have to see if somebody wonderful doesn't mind supporting you for a while

= you have somebody wonderful, but she's had to go home and you won't see her until Friday because today

= Sunday
Still, at least I no longer have to endure Songs of Praise and the Antiques Roadshow on a Sunday evening.  Not like when I was a child and there was only one TV in the house and we HAD to watch BBC1 and this meant torture from crap like Last of the Summer Wine, Howard's Way, Bergerac, Mastermind and, not forgetting, That's life! (!).  Oh how the sombre tones of the Mastermind theme were perfectly in tuned with my mood as I sat in front of the fire, trying to get my hair dry without suffering third degree burns.

Back in the 1970s, nothing was open on a Sunday, there was nothing to do in terms of today's options of going to the shops, the choice of cinemas, places to eat.  The only things that opened were bookies and churches and the odd corner shop (as in strange, rather than infrequent).  This meant that, in the afternoon, we were dragged out to visit old people, or they came to us and we had to be quiet unless spoken to.  You might think that a child would find this torture, but it was OK; old people are nice and funny and there was usually cake and biscuits.  I can't remember what they used to talk about, but it was far more interesting than anything I could ever interject with, so it was worth listening.  We'd get taken for walks in the local woods and hear stories of the old mine workings down there as well as learn a little about the natural environment.  These days, such activities are the luxury of kids from middle class backgrounds, but for us, this was free and there was bugger all else to do.

Back then, Sundays were always bright and sunny or pissing it down with rain.

So back to now and Sunday evenings still fill me with utter dread.  The feeling starts at waking when I realise that the weekend is over, that there's not much point making plans for the day because my girlfriend has to leave at teatime.  And then she goes, and the depression closes in.  Today's departure was worse than usual for some reason.

Five more sleeps.