A Score of Things That Mean It’s Sunday

Last week the Sunday Shitraker magazine’s ‘Nostalgia’ feature focused on the impact of 15 years of Sunday trading by greedy, grasping commercial enterprises abusing the Sabbath by seducing and enticing the brain-dead public at large to plunge themselves even deeper into the Stygian abyss of credit card debt to buy some crap and tat they’ve seen on TV or the neighbour down the road has one of – from the ubiquitous Ikea – and they simply cannot now live without the same.

The adroitly faceted article prompted many readers to reminisce about Sundays long past, before the trading restrictions were abolished by the Infidel Tory government in 1994 – when the stores were closed and folks stayed home – after church – listening to the Archers on the radio and taking part in a family beetle drive – while heathen types commented on how much they now enjoy giving God the finger after six days of toil and saying ‘Bollocks” to keeping the Sabbath Holy.

While Church attendances on a Sunday have dropped 99% since the Inquisition was disbanded and outlawed in Britain and excommunication became so passé and vieux jeu – pubs, shops and sports seem to play more of a part in Sunday activities as testified by a legion of reader responses.

1. Meet up with my lesbo girlfriends for lunch at the Mall, a spot of silly girl shopping then we all go back to my place to watch a blue movie and make an oral daisy chain.
Sapphie Dildodo, Slutpool, Dorset

2. Sunday is my chill out time in our house. I tell the kids to eff off round to Granny’s for the day then kick me ‘usband’s arse outa bed so ‘e can go an’ mow the effin’ lawn an’ wash the car while I watch me Emmerdale omnibus DVD and eat bags of choccy peanut M & M’s.
Rita Scrunt, Twatford, Kent

3. Get up early, big fry up, watch some sport, pub at lunch an’ get half-pissed, all you can eat curry buffet, back to pub to watch Match of the Day an’ get totally pissed, home, spew me ring up, wake up with a ‘hangover. Perfect.
Chantelle, Slapperton, Reading

4. Watch me Thai ladyboy DVD porno collection and have me weekly marathon wanking session and then to Evensong at St. Sodom’s and have a grope at the choirboys.
Gordon, Mutton-on-the-Hoof

5. Sundays are fun days and the possibilities are endless. I love sharpening my K-Bar knife then going for a long walk across the sand dunes, chat with strange men about stupid football and if I’m in the mood, add another corpse to my list of serial killings.
Hairy Mary, Slaughterham-on-Sea

6. The Sunday Blues – the end-of-the-weekend depression – is what makes Sunday distinctive for me – so I shoot up on meths breezers and Prozac then stick my head in a clear polythene laundry bag and watch poxy football on TV until I either pass out or vomit – or do both simultaneously.
Melissa the Kuntt, Yidsbury, Manchester

7. My perfect Sunday is to have a dear friend named Simon round for brunch – he has the same ‘orientations and tastes’ as myself – then after a glass or two of Souave we try on my collection of women’s clothes – especially the lacy lingerie and a bit of butch black latex if we get into a really kinky mood – then watch those macho type footballers kick the shit out of each other on Sunday Sports.
Rupert Minge, Odderton, Middlesex

8. Going to Mass and serving as organist, meeting friends, welcoming newcomers, having a cup of tea together, then a brisk walk up on the desolate moors just before dark, when there’s no sod around, and bugger a few sheep.
Mr Wilfred Thort-Nott, Queeringham, Lancs

9. Go down the pub at lunchtime, sup a skinfull of Bitch Thumper lager then back home and beat the shit outa the missus for making a bollocks of recording the footy on Sunday Sporta an’ all she’s got on the DVD is effin’ Songs of Praise.
Ghengis McTwat, Glasgow

10. Sundays is fer ‘avin’ me weekly bath, whether I needs one or not – then I’m out in the garden shed oilin’ me push bike an’ blowin’ the effin’ tyres up, winding the clocks around the ‘ouse, then takin’ the dog out fer a walk as he’s been locked in the cellar all week chewin’ on lumps of coal.
Jez Gormless, Bellend, Birmingham

11. I like to use Sundays to have a walk around the local cemeteries and church graveyards and say ‘hello’ to all my old patients – and if I meet up with any of their relatives paying their respects then will often comment “I say, you’re not looking too rosy – better call into the surgery and see me next week.”
Dr. Harold Shipman, Hyde, Manchester

12. Fer me Sunday is about getting’ up early as I ‘ave a lie-in bed every other mornin’ of the week cos I ain’t got no job – so I goes off ter about five church services and nicks a few bob from the offertory plates as they pass ‘em around. Pays fer me Old Headbanger lager and ciggies through the week, yer know.
Jacko, Little Yobbton, Scalliedale

13. Sunday’s is shit cos I’ve gotta work all effin’ day in an effin’ care ‘ome wipin’ old git’s arses an’ chewin’ their effin’ food fer ‘em cos they ain’t got any effin’ teeth left. Monday’s my new Sunday and I go out an’ get pissed and shoot up a few drugs an’ flog me golly fer a few extra quid.
Florence, Nightingale-on-a-Branch, Notts

14. The wife goes to church and I go to a car boot sale and chat up the Albanian pikey slappers wot’s sellin’ dodgy knock-off gear an’ pirate DVD copies. Can’t say we approve of each other’s choices, but that’s life. After lunch I head down to the big Mall and smoke a bifta on the roof viewin’ gallery an’ look out at people hangin’ round the empty town centre like a bunch of dildos – just like a scene from Dawn of The Dead with zombies wanderin’ all round the Mall.
Garry the Gyppo, Scumborough Hamlets, London

15. As Devil worshippers we like to take it easy on a Sunday, perhaps burn a few black candles and sacrifice one of next door’s kittens – if they have any left. Last week we tried to sacrifice a neighbour’s tortoise – what a disaster – neither our can opener nor Bill’s claw hammer worked very well. No wonder it rained all week.
Aggie & Bill – the Crowley’s, Smegmadale

16. I always have a cooked breakfast on Sunday – it’s the only day I have time to do it – even though it’s such a hassle to have to take it out of the nuke halfway through its cooking time simply to peel back the polythene cover on the hash browns and bacon section then put it back in again for ten minutes. Ah well, the price of home cooking.
Fellatia Gobbleton, Idleforth, Wales

17. A ride across Cannock Chase on my mountain bike in the hope of getting sexually assault or gang raped by a mob of chavs or hoodies – but usually end up back at home on a Sunday afternoon and have to get myself off yet again with my jackrabbit while watching a sexy vicar sermonising on Songs of Praise.
Ugly Alice, Maidenhead

18. Cos the Greedy Grocer an’ Pukesbury’s supermarket are always busier – like effin’ packed out – on Sundays me and me mate Britney goes on a shopliftin’ excursion wiv our big floppy coats on an’ gets away wiv nickin’ all kinds of good expensive shit – then we heads down the pub and sells it an’ gets pissed.
Chantelle Muffrot, Scallyham, Yorks

19. Sunday is the day when I adore sitting on the steps at Trafalgar Square overlooking Big Ben while sipping my Starbucks frappe and watching people passing by – while flocks of pigeons swoop across and steal bits of my Danish and drop piles of white shit on my hair and down the back of my black suede jacket. Really, I do love London – it definitely beats living in the Swat Valley with the Taliban breathing down your neck – or watching football.
Tariq Aziz, London

20. I know it’s Sunday when I wake up with a hangover an’ I’m lyin’ in a big pool of me own spew – wiv a condom hangin’ outa me arse – effin’ brilliant – an’ all day ter recover.
Iffy Vic the Poofta, Barnsley