Sabbath, bloody Sabbath

I don’t like Sundays.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some things about the day I do like- Sunday lunch, old Westerns on TV, the Sunday papers, American Football- but for the most part they’re a bit of a drag. I’m either in work, where the hours seem to drag even more than normal, or at home, with nothing to do.

And before one of my family chimes in- no, I’m not going to church.

I’ve never thought about it before but one of my major influences in stopping going to church as a teenager may have been Homer Simpson, not only for his wise words:

But also for showing in the episode Homer the Heretic how much fun you can have when you stay home on Sunday mornings.

Anyway, the reason I really don’t like Sundays is that they’re dull. I get that’s a major selling point for those who work 9 to 5, and that for many a lazy sunday afternoon is just what the doctor ordered before they start of another working week. Or if you’ve gone out Saturday night you need to spend Sunday morning coming down, but otherwise its just a long, dull day.

Made worse by the UK’s stupid Sunday trading laws.

 

When these were bought in they reflected the needs of the community- you worked the rest of the week and went to Church on Sunday, but that was then, this is now. Society has diversified, there’s a larger number of non-Christians who might want to do some shopping on Sunday.

I know some people don’t want to work Sundays but I’m sure with the current climate you could find someone to man a till on a Sunday. A lot of places do open but their hours are shorter and that’s a pain as well, especially if you forget its Sunday or you’re busy right up until their new, earlier shutting time.

Take for example this morning. I awoke early and after pottering around needed to answer the call of nature, however, we were out of toilet paper. No worries, I thought, I’ll wait until just after 7 and wander to the corner shop.

But being a Sunday the corner shop was closed. As was the other one. And so was the Spar.

Annoyed I decided to loop past the shops again as more time had passed and perhaps they’d just been a bit slow off the mark this morning.

They same time heals all wounds, but the more time that passed the more uncomfortable my situation got. I walked towards the Mace shop near me and joy of joys the shutters were up.

One of the women who works there was carrying in the papers and I was just about to cross the street when she carried the last bundle in, looked RIGHT AT ME and then pressed the button so the shutters start coming down. I was infuriated by this, I mean, she couldn’t just have said “Sorry, we’re not open yet”? No, she just rudely shut them, well, I swear that despite being one of the few places near me that sells Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups I will never give Mace another penny of my money.

I came back to the house and raided the upstairs bathroom, depriving my housemates of TP, which I feel kinda bad about. I mainly just buy toilet rolls for the downstairs bathroom, which is essentially “my” toilet, being as I’m the only one on the ground floor. So I use this one and leave the one upstairs alone, although someone else had used the last of my bog roll so I felt a little less guilty.

Yeah, so please can we have shops that are open at better times on Sunday? Its 2012, maybe its time to make a change.

Any thoughts? You know what to do. BETEO.

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One Comment on “Sabbath, bloody Sabbath”

  1. […] Sabbath, bloody Sabbath – A lament about British Sundays that includes a .jpg of Homer’s “picked the wrong religion” joke from “Homer the Heretic”: […]


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