Sundays
Jesus H Corbett, this question has opened up some dark corners of the mind.

The Sunday ritual.

Growing up in the 70s and 80s I would estimate that at least 90% of Sunday afternoons were spent at my Gran's (Mam's side). Mam was one of six, so all six siblings (plus spouses & offspring) would congregate every Sunday at Gran's.
Six married kids and 15 grandkids, plus Gran & Grandad in a 2 bedroomed bungalow. EVERY Sunday teatime.

Gran would perform the ritual of feeding the tribe (as North-Eastern women of a particular generation MUST do, you MUST ensure your family is fed, maybe it was a war/rationing thing. After I moved away from home every time I went to see Mam & Dad I had to eat something, Mam wouldn't settle until I had.)

A lifetime aversion to tinned salmon & battenburg ensued. The mere smell of tinned salmon makes me want to vomit quantities that would have shocked a teenage Linda Blair.

In addition I simply cannot imagine having to put up with me & 14 other snotty little gets running amok every week.

The adults sat round with endless cup of tea, the telly in the corner Royle-Family stylee and Gran & her daughters would have endless conversations, finishing each others' sentences all the while.

She was given respite 6 times a year as each sibling took their turn for an annual bash, but 46 out of every 52 was a tough shift in anyone's book.

Fond memories.

Makes me feel even more guilty about not going to see her after she went mental, but that's more to do with my social ineptitude & being an insensitive bastard.
(Worthless wishes he had the brains of a pigeon, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 13:00, Reply)