Oh for the days when Sundays were fun.
We’d jump in the car and go for a run.
We’d stroll across meadows, climb the odd stile
And maybe visit a stately pile.
Or else it was church or Sunday school,
Or swimming with friends the the local pool.
We’d drive to the seaside, stay until dark,
And never go near a retail park.
Now we’re succumbed to the siren of shopping,
Crisscrossing town to each store without stopping.
We’ve traded the old –fashioned pleasures of yore
For the dubious joys of the superstore.
Children trudge bored round the endless aisles,
Strangers now to their rosy smiles.
Instead of those shell-hunts by the sea
They’re helping Mum to save 10p.
Dad’s got a face like a basset hound,
He snaps and growls if he makes a sound.
On Sunday outings he used to be jolly:
Now he’s a grouch in charge of a trolley.
Oh to see lambs in the warm summer breeze-
To loose their charm in the cold deep-freeze:
And the pines now made into furnishing goods
Looked so much better in the autumn woods.
Remember those visits to quaint old towns!
Picnic hampers on the Downs!
Lakeland walks and trips to the zoo!
We dream of them now in the checkout queue.
And when we’ve amassed the weekly supply –
Grocery, gardening, DIY –
We jump in the car and home we ride
To watch a film of the countryside.