|The Gray family circa 1963 , Andrew is on the far left , I am the baby on my father's knee far right|
I met my sister in law for lunch today.
It's a habit we've got into since my brother died
I can't believe it will be seven years this December.
I can't quite remember just how the subject arose, but over a pulled pork pannini ( try saying that when you're pissed!) she mentioned that my brother hated Sundays with a vengeance.
She also admitted that she never quite knew just why.
I knew why.
Sundays were rather hateful, wasted days growing up.
They were filled with parent lie ins ( and hangovers) over cooked roast dinners, long boring sits in front of crappy tv and cold Sunday tea times listening to song something simple.
A Sunday drive out was unheard of. I don't remember picnics or walks out ( except the ones with my elder sister), there were no seaside jaunts, Church visits or zoo trips.
Pre lunch my father would retire to the fraternity that was the local Conservative club while my mother boiled the fuck out of mashed carrots and we children were happy that he brought home the Sunday treat of a block of Neapolitan ice cream.
My sister in law probably still cannot quite understand my brother's hatred of Sundays.
Her childhood was very different to our own.
I understood it, perfectly
Have you ever hated a day?