Bank Holiday Blues

The other day , when we had gone out for lunch at that seaside cafe, my sister in law, quite in passing, revealed that my late brother absolutely detested Sundays.
I knew immediately just why that was, after all we grew up in the same household, albeit ten years apart.
Sundays, when we were children meant a day at home with the parents.
And they were never really happy times.

Obviously my brother carried the memories of those rather sad Sundays to his grave....I luckily have not, although after thinking about it carefully, I suspect that my historic dislike of Bank Holiday Mondays come from the same stable so to speak.

My parents never did anything on Sundays & Bank holidays. They watched TV, had a roast lunch , a cold tea and that was it. When my classmates went out of the day to Conwy Castle or for a run onto the Denbigh Moors, we children were left to our own devices around the house , the apathy of a non working day was more depressing than anything you could imagine.

I have never in my earlier working life had the childhood expectation that Sundays could be fun, after all they were often a normal working day like any other. when I was a senior nurse, I never worked weekends, and so with Chris in tow they became relaxing fun days, and so only the memories of a bank holiday Monday stick with me from my childhood.....not a bad weight around my neck given the fact there are only a few such holidays in the average year . Unfortunately for my brother, there were 52 Sundays in a year.
52 sad memory pricks