‘Sunday evenings often feel like the weekend is over before it’s even begun’ – Catherine McCormack
When you think about how things change overtime, it’s incredible how long it can take. Sometimes it happens so slowly you don’t realise it’s happening until it’s happened, like the nose eroding off the sphinx, or the wrinkles on my forehead; I didn’t wake up one morning and all of a sudden and there they were.
My friend Terry recently wrote a post about her Sunday routine and I mused over how different it was to my Sunday routine. Then it made me realise how different my Sunday routine is now compared to 5 years ago, and how different that was to my routine of 10 years ago etc etc. Essentially I ended up wondering why the bloody hell I don’t like Sundays anymore!
When I was really young I was an early bird and get up around 7am to watch Inspector Gadget before going to Sunday School. Not because I was ever particularly religious, in fact I was probably agnostic at best but all my friends went and you got donuts and hot chocolate (the nice kind covered in powder not sugary, with raspberry jam in the middle). It was an early life lesson that there’s very little I won’t do for a jam donut. After Sunday school I’d have Sunday lunch with my mum, dad and brother listening to the previous night’s Bob Harris show, looking forward to my Vienetta (which I would microwave until it was mush) then go off and play until it was bath and bedtime.
My the time I was a teenager I’d discovered the art of the lie in, and Inspector Gadget at 7am was replaced by the Dawson’s Creek and the Hollyoaks Omnibus. Sunday lunch remained though, 2pm every Sunday, which served as a gateway between slobbing around in my pyjamas doing nothing and frantically getting my homework done ready for Monday or going down to Grandma’s for late afternoon tea (always with the hope that she’d made one of her delicious chocolate cakes). These were the days when shops were still shut on a Sunday so the roads were deathly quiet – other than everyone else doing family visits. Sunday evening always revolved around the two episodes of the Simpsons which were shown at Sky 1 at 6pm after which it was usually finishing off the homework I should have done that afternoon, tidying my room and getting ready for school the next day.
Sundays in my early 20’s were probably my favourite. I was working fulltime by then and either still living with my parents or with Dave which meant Sundays were reserved for one thing and one thing only; hangovers. In the early days of our relationship we would often be invited to Dave’s parents for Sunday lunch (which was always 1pm on the dot) and almost every weekend we had to set an alarm for midday to make sure we were up and dressed in time to go. Because of afore mentioned hangover I’d inevitably need a bit of a snooze in the afternoon before the inevitable back to work dread would set in around 7 or 8pm by which time I was eating scotch eggs and pork pies with my parents so was easily suppressed.
Sundays in my 20s became all about the naps
The problem I’ve found with back to work dread is that the older I get the earlier on a Sunday it rears its ugly head. I’m probably working on around the 2pm mark these days. On a whole though my Sundays are a lot healthier; 99% of the time the start with a run, spinning class or session in the gym. Now all our parents’ off spring have flown the nest I can’t remember the last time we went anywhere for Sunday lunch and it’s a rare occasion I make one myself (although I do make a mean one when I can be bothered to get all the stuff in). I wish I could relax into my Sundays like I used to be able to, sadly though Sunday as probably become one of my least favourite days of the week.
I still however, try and adopt the ‘lazy Sunday’ attitude that has been there only consistent thing throughout my life. In fact I’m always secretly quite pleased when it rains on a Sunday as it gives me the perfect excuse to catch up on some documentaries or trash TV without feeling too guilty for not being out the house.
I’m hoping that my Sunday routine will change again in the near future as I’ve volunteered to work on reception at a local Hospice on a Sunday evening. Since I’ve spent most of my life lazy around doing very little on a Sunday it’s probably about time I made better use of my time!