Sunday 4 January 1987

…I woke up at 7.40am and just lay there thinking.
Today I took all my decorations down because it’s the last day
of our school holiday.
My room now looks terribly bare.
Tomorrow we have to face the chains and whips as another
school term starts
Had leftover turkey for lunch…
…At 8pm I watched Last of the Summer Wine which was a new series…

I know full well that the “antics” of Compo, Clegg and Seymour (for this was the period when Brian Wilde was sulking) would barely have offset that sensation of creeping dread that affects me every Sunday night still.

The only difference nowadays is that I know how rubbish I’ll feel each Monday morning, so at least it doesn’t come as a surprise.

But the sensation is there, even when I’ve got Monday off work, and it’s one that has its roots all the way back to the likes of 1987, when I was starting to do things such as lie in bed “thinking”.

Good grief. This all sounds perilously close to – erk – adolescence.

That’s enough of that.

2 thoughts on “Sunday 4 January 1987

  1. Sunday nights, always hideous.

    A bath, a hairwash, (which was then blow-dried by dad into a never-changing Prince Valiant man-bob), crumpets and homemade cake on the trolley in front of To Serve Them All My Days or Poldark then early to bed dreading the next day.
    Still makes me shudder now.


  2. Sunday evenings were the same in my house too. Sandwiches, crisps and some kind of sponge cake that to be honest has put me off cake for life. And sunday evening TV. When the Boat comes in? Some playhouse production, Though there was of course Sunday Night at the London Paladium. Jimmy Tarkbuck presenting, and Tommy Cooper keeling over.

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