It used to be the day when the sun first shone properly, the day the queen gave away coins and money, kind words and her healing touch to the poor (those people who according to Jesus will always be with us, he was right). It was the day when pubs and garden centre cafes noticed an unseasonal boom in trade, stale lunches were served, drink was partaken and wild conversations floated on the breeze, homeless and carefree. There was indiscriminate bad behaviour and a certain amount of gay abandon abandoned. Young men would go out and buy tyres or sneak up on their girlfriends and push them over walls or into the bushes. Pop music played on radios and everybody listened or at least tapped a foot. Old people would natter, occasionally mumble and often complain. Bees buzzed as if they'd just been set free from some winter strong box, all angry and uncoordinated but there were no wasps. None had survived the long journey from China so far; little did we know. Of course at that point we had a Labour Government who knew how to bow down to the Trades Unions, the BBC and the media whilst most Tories lived in the country or Switzerland anonymously. Now we're all older, a bit better of but still working hard on Maundy Thursday because it is sadly no more a holiday. That day must come tomorrow.
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