Thursday, November 29, 2007


In the 1980's John Peel used to champion a band called Serious Drinking. One of their songs was Countdown To Bilko. The lyrics seemed to be based around the fact that Sundays were crap. There was nothing to do and you would be bored silly until Bilko was on BBC2 in the early evening (I think Bilko was on BBC2 on Sunday evenings for about half a century).

Still, that was the 1980's for you. As I've said on a previous post about, er, a year ago, older generations were lucky by comparison. A Sunday morning at church would be followed by a cycle home through muddy country lanes, then you'd get a sound thrashing from father and everyone would gather around the wireless to listen to The Larkins, The Navy Lark, Wot Larks Pip and Round The 'Orn (Bona Fide Bona Bona Drag Racing) With Kenneth Williams, Kenneth Connor and Kenneth "Ooh, Get The Sturdy Knees In That Kilt!" McKellar.

Nowadays, Sundays are also much more exciting because the twenty four hour lifestyle means that even the most sleepy hamlet has a Starbucks and an opium den on every corner to while away the day before the seven hour commute into London.

If there isn't enough to entertain you in your home town, then you must drive off to join the nearest fifteen mile long traffic tailback to a designer retail outlet or out of town *shopping and leisure experience*.

If that isn't enough to entertain you, perhaps you feel that your life is an empty consumerist race. Maybe it is time for you to become a modern Christian. Why not spend Sunday mornings among acne riddled dungaree clad sorts clapping along to "enlightened" vicars in '80's style black denim jackets and paisley shirts playing modern hymns on the acoustic guitar?

Sundays: something has been lost; but something has been gained. Although not everybody yearns for what has been lost, or cares. Or, indeed, remembers.

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Picture: Is that a large UFO that's just landed near Dartford?
"Trudging slowly over wet sand,
Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen.
This is the coastal town,
That they forgot to close down
Armageddon -
come Armageddon!
Come, Armageddon! Come!"

Everyday IS like Sunday
Here endeth today's sermon.
You forgot The Clitheroe Kid. Midday on Sundays.
Sundays are for staying in bed and making and then ignoring the children.
Keep Sunday special?

Not a good idea. It gives the labouring classes time to think when their time is much more productively spent stamping bar codes on packets of chicken nuggets in Asda.

Apparently the Tolpuddle Martyrs used to congregate of a Sunday and you know what happened to them.

Uppity oiks.
Istvanski - if you're inside Bluewater it's defintitely like an alien spaceship, and all the people there look like martians as well.

HE - I've just seen a newspaper report in which Morrissey was grumbling about immigration because Britain isn't like it was. Back in the '80's he was writing songs like that in which he was grumbling about how Britain was. I wish he'd make his mind!

Malc - I did an overlong, messy and unfocussed post about Jimmy Clitheroe (December 2005 in the unlikely event that anyone's interested).

Ziggi - I must've been doing something wrong because I didn't make any.

Garfer - either that or get 'em in church at seven in the morning. Actually, we get woken up by church bells at around ten in the morning here on Sundays. Most inconsiderate, I can tell you.
I often work on Sundays.

Am I going straight to Hell?
MJ is a vicar?
The church services I usually enjoy most are poorly attended with hardly ever any youngsters. I've tried the other kind but too much smiling scares me. I can jeeussst about cope with the handshake during the 'Peace be with you".
MJ - I doubt it. Anyone who visits your blog can see that you promote healthy, clean living moral standards and are a positive role model for today's youngsters.

Arabella - exactly. My dad used to watch Songs Of Praise (probably hedging his bets the way older people tend to) and those modern church services used to freak me out. All that smiling and enthusiastic hand clapping choreography!
Thank you Betty for this post about sundays. In my heritage there are so many vicars and god knows what that even to this day, on sunday mornings, I think about really deep and meaningful stuff instead of sex. Weird eh!
I have considered going in to therapy, but now I've got this far I kind of think, ah sod it, surely I'll get through now.
Tom - I thought that sounded like a weird reaction on your part, then I remembered that you were brought up as a Catholic. Don't worry. Everyone who I've encountered who had a Catholic upbringing is either in therapy or thinks they need therapy.
Sorry Betty ..... but did mj mention the word work?
Kaz - I'm sure it's work of a kind.
"Everyone who I've encountered who had a Catholic upbringing is either in therapy or thinks they need therapy."

Us Paddies seem to cope all right...
Um, I was all right until I ran into the Protestant work ethic.
Spinsterella - can't cope with the Protestant work ethic myself. Mind you, neither can I cope with the East European ethic I had to encounter because of family. That seems to involve remembering all the bad things from your past, blaming everyone else, getting into arguments, feeling hard done by and being sorry for yourself all the time.
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