Sundays of long—and not so long—ago.
I'm in a bit of a nostalgic mood today, not sure why,
I think it was listening to the Young Chorister of the Year competition on the radio that set me thinking.
Christmas is coming and all that. But memories weren’t just about the season.
They are Sunday School on a Sunday afternoon. The drunk who pressed a squashed bar of chocolate into my and my mate’s hands and how our parents told us to put it in the bin and gave us the do not talk to strangers chat. Actually we hadn’t, he’d just lurched in our direction, told us we were Bonnie Lassies and given us the chocolate bars.
Of no shops open in a Sunday, of moving to Scotland and finding shops were open, pubs shut at 9 ish and on a Sunday you could drink on a pub but not buy alcohol to take out.
I think a lot of these Sunday memories are because the news I thought I saw the other day was about one of the Scottish islands was only just about to get a Sunday service. (and I can’t now find that item saying which one)
It reminded me of what we didn’t and didn’t do.
Lots of reading, walks and picnics.
Sunday roast and the remains as cold meat or mince on a Tuesday.
I’m not saying it was better—or worse—than today. Just different.
Like getting a new Christmas jumper or a bonnet for Easter.
Happy reminiscing,
Love, Raven xxx
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