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Sunday, lovely Sunday

June 2, 2008

It’s not often that I utilise my Sundays. From when I was a teen I’ve spent almost every Sunday lying either on the sofa or in bed, watching the Hollyoaks omnibus, then a bit of Friends, then the Eastenders omnibus, then Point of View, then Time Team, then the evening’s viewing. Some Sundays (OK, most Sundays) I’d not even make it out of bed – and only then for loo and food breaks.

But my still-quite-new single life has changed things rather. I’m now restless in the flat on my own, and seek every opportunity I can to get out and about, meet friends or just wander. Yesterday I met an old college friend for lunch at our favourite pub. We caught up (he’s an artist and has been painting a bit, I’ve been writing a bit), shared frustration over a certain mutual friend’s selfish tendencies (we thought he was coming down for the weekend; he only told us on Saturday evening that he wasn’t… Hmmm), and then we wandered around Bath looking at various art displays that were part of Bath’s Fringe Festival.

After getting a bit lost (yes, in our home town. It’s possible apparently) we decided to go to my fave bar that has lovely views over the river and have a summery drink. On the way, we passed The Parade Gardens and heard what can only be described as Oom Pah music – a brass band was playing in the bandstand. This was too good an opportunity to miss, and filled with energy and enthusiasm, we skipped down into the gardens for lashings and lashings of ginger beer (OK, diet coke) and some apple cake, mmmmmm!

It was wondrous. We sat on the grass and listened to all the war-time classics, amazed at our own lyrical knowledge of songs for which we weren’t around. How could we possibly know these songs? Growing up, my mum was always playing us the Beatles, and other such music, my brother got some rather eclectic bands when he taught himself the guitar (shall I mention the words Dire Straights and shame him? Ooops, just did). But no one ever played Roll Out The Barrel and all those others. Perhaps we’d heard them on the telly over the years, but I like to think that they’re just totally engrained in our psyche. It’s rather like getting manically, ludicrously, deliriously happy over just sitting in a park listening to a bandstand. It’s what makes us quintessentially British.

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