Sundays were always boring…

Sitting around being bored. Shops shut, nowhere to go. Listening to the radio, parents doing the washing in a boiler and a spin drier in the kitchen. Steam coming up and then patterns in the water as the spindryer vibrated the bowl that caught the water. No fridge, just a cold pantry, food was usually bacon and eggs for breakfast and tinned peaches and evaporated milk with sliced bread and butter at teatime. It was always the same. Things did change, life got more interesting, but only when my parents got transport, which was two small motorbikes. Memories are strange, they suddenly appear, then what do you do.

Being polite

Have you ever heard the phrase ‘I was dragged up to be polite’?

But I think I was taught to be polite from an early age. Things like being told not to answer back, don’t speak until you’re spoken to, children should be seen and not heard. In some ways those are very old fashioned values, but then I was born decades ago. I was the child of parents born in the 1920’s a different era. Me before Thatchers children were born, my parents before Churchill.

Politeness is important to me. Caring about things, being or trying to be aware of things, but sometimes I don’t notice. I don’t always pick up on what has happened, but at least I have politeness to fall back on. Politeness and politics must be verbally linked. Police is to do with being of the people, perhaps polite has the same root?