Sunday is a great day. At least, it used to be a great day.
I remember when I was a child I couldn’t wait for the day when I’d put my Sunday best on (short pants, grey socks with green garters, shirt, tie and blazer) and we would go to church. I suppose it was there that I first understood the greatness of the Pope. Whether it was John Paul, John XXII or Pius IV – This time it’s Papal, the sheer brilliance of the man shone through.
Who else could get his fellow man to appear on stage in a dress and then dispense stale parts of Christ’s body to willing supplicants? Truly a man beyond words.
But now Sunday is no longer for the Sunday best, the roast dinner or the quiet contemplation around the fire. It’s about Liffey Valley, Harvey Norman, McDonalds for lunch and fat, sweaty knackers in their tracksuits with their four tubby offspring from five different fathers (one of them being half-mulatto) carrying plastic bags full of rubbish they don’t even need.
You can put it down to the world being more advanced, our hunger for 24 everything taking control, but personally it’s simply obvious that Sunday has gone from being not stupid to stupid, and like a child who has spent too long with oxygen after falling into a swimming pool, there’s no going back.
January 20, 2008 at 11:32 pm
Stop obsessing about men in skirts willya Fanny. Its demeaning, nay stupid !
Obsess about the snipe on the shannon callows and their stupidity in teh face of rising water levels !