Clever Trevor, Parenting, Ramblings

The Totes guide on How to survive Easter Sunday.

The Totes guide on How to survive Easter Sunday.

I know that I should have offered this advice earlier but I only just thought of it.

Sorry for being slack.

Easter Sunday…

A day that time forgot. Seriously, it’s like going back to the seventies. The lyrics to Morrissey’s “Every Day is Like Sunday” could be brought bang up to date for modern consumption for something like the XFactor by changing the lyrics to “Every Day is like Easter Sunday”.

Can you imagine “The Smiths” night on XFactor with Johnny Marr and Mozza as judges? There’d be mash ups of “There is a light that never goes out” and “Girlfriend in a Coma” complete with backing dancers doing literal interpretations of the lyrics. A ten tonne truck could drive onto the stage for the finale and knock backing dancers over.

Louis Walsh would have a boy band performing “This charming man”. All members of the band would be holding a gladioli whilst doing bizarre harmonies but sat on bar stools In a line. As it was a singers turn to sing, the young pretty boy could wave his stem in a come hither way whilst looking into camera. Louis would be holding his crotch.

Mozza would walk out when it became apparent that some of the lyrics had been changed to have a happier outcome.

Sharon would wear a T shirt that says “Meat is ethically ok if it was outdoor reared and humanely slaughtered”

There’s generations of people that have grown up thinking that Sunday isn’t that bad. Back in the Seventies and eighties, it was a day to sleep through. It’s hardly surprising that hundreds of thousands of kids spent Saturday nights off their tits in warehouses and clubs when the only thing that they had to look forward to on Sunday was falling asleep with their head in a Sunday lunch whilst their parents wondered where they went wrong or going to the pub when it was open from twelve until three. If you’d had a really good weekend, you could usually get to the pub before falling asleep until Tuesday.

1994 was when this all changed with “The Sunday Trading Act”. I’m not sure that I remember when shops first started opening on a Sunday as I was probably to busy embracing popular culture in the form of MDMA. This was obviously the governments fault as it took them so long to let anything open on a Sunday.

Now everything’s open on a Sunday,
Except Easter Sunday when nothing is open.

I always forget this.

Yesterday,I offered to take Bella shopping today but Nana said

“But the Trafford centre isn’t open. It’s Easter Sunday!” I replied “are you sure?”

She gave me a very strange look. Nana is catholic.

I am a godless heathen. Dangerous told me so this morning when I was telling him that Homebase would definitely be open and that I wanted to go and buy some plants for the Garden.
As we drove there in the car because I insisted that it would be open, he patiently explained that Easter is the holiest day of the year. When I looked perplexed, he warmed to his theme and started asking what the fuck religious upbringing had I had? As we drove past the deserted car park, I kept saying “Jesus, it’s not open! What the actual fuck! I’m sure that it was open last year” to which he replied “No, you tried to go to the garden centre last year to buy plants on Easter Sunday. The garden centre was closed too.”

I’d never considered that Easter is actually a really holy day. The closest that I’ve ever been to organised religion was when I was in the brownies and we had to go to church with them. I thought Christmas was the really holy one and that Easter was just about chocolate. Now I have been reliably informed by my smug husband that it’s about chocolate and the shops being shut because it’s the most religious day.

Instead of shopping for plants, we went for a very ill advised walk down the TransPennine trail. Dangerous chased after the dog every time he saw another dog and insisted that he be on a lead. A nice lady with a dog asked if Trevor wasn’t good with other dogs to which I replied “No, he’s fine, it’s just my husband never walks the dog and he panics when he sees another dog, or a car, or a bike, or a blade of grass!”

The little shits fought over a ball and moaned. This is actually an understatement. They kicked the living shit out of each other to the point where Dangerous and I actually started mocking them and laughing at them because they were so horrible. Oscar was actually arguing with himself at points, like a man at chucking out time who’s had nine pints of Stella.

Dangerous said that it was the furthest he’d ever walked in his life.

So how to overcome this very holy and important day…

Lock the kids in the playroom with their chocolate spoils and some tech.

Eat loads of chocolate, drink loads of booze and do some online shopping.

I suppose that we could play “Sunday Night Slut” later.

You do realise that the first choice will be between Morrissey and Marr!