It Always Rains on Sunday.

This story is now published as part of the anthology ‘Loyal and True’.

This story was published in the Paperbook Magazine February 2014 Edition. Under the title: ‘Weather Or Not.’

http://thepaperbookcollective.com/ 

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No one could explain it but it had been going on for so long it didn’t seem to matter any more.

“When all else fails you can always talk about the weather.”

My mum was full of little sayings and this one got trotted out whenever there was an upcoming social engagement looming on the horizon.

Despite my obvious ability in the talking department, my mum seemed to think that my ability would desert me if a female hove into view.

She had seen a bit of life and she was still attractive having been VERY attractive in her younger days so she knew the effect a pretty girl could have on a young man even if he was normally loquacious.

We lived in a part of the world that had weather.

That is to say it had four distinct seasons so if one was prone to talking about it, there was generally a new subject every three months or so.

But it didn’t matter what season it was, it always rained on a Sunday.

Sometimes it just drizzled but generally it rained. Sometimes it poured!

After a generation or two people stopped talking about it and planned their week around it.

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Picnics etc., were always on Saturday.

At one stage there was a move to have the weekend shifted to Friday/Saturday because the workers felt that they were missing out, but the bosses put a swift stop to that.

The unions had lost a lot of their power and influence since the country had drifted towards a ‘middle class’ accommodation.

People weren’t exactly rich but they were reasonably comfortable so they stopped joining and supporting unions.

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It wasn’t all bad news.

Several umbrella companies had been revived and were doing quite well.

Ducks seemed to be very happy and people with sensible shoes had smiles on their faces.

Shops that sold rain coats did reasonable business.

People’s gardens looked good and water consumption was down and, in a country that traditionally was in permanent drought, this was a good thing.

Unfortunately, rainy days tended to push up the rate of depression in the general population and suicides on a Monday were higher than they should be from a statistical standpoint. It didn’t rain a lot on Mondays but I guess the ‘rainy Sunday effect’ mixed with Mondayitis was too much for those poor souls who were teetering on the brink.

I seemed to be one of the few people who didn’t care much; I like the rain. I like the sound of it on our ‘tin’ roof. I sleep better when it rains, and I like the smell of the earth after it stops.

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Back when the ‘Sunday rains’ first started a few people thought that it might be the end of the world.

But, then again, there are always a few people who think one thing or another is heralding the end of the world.

The fact is that the world comes to an end for a lot of people every day so I’m going to enjoy my time here whether it’s raining or not.