That Day It wasn’t until 4 o’clock this afternoon that it occurred to me what Easter is about. That it’s a religious holiday celebrating the death and resurrection of a man or more than a man. If there is anyone reading who is offended by that, please let me apologise and offer an explanation. Unlike Christmas, with the exception of church services and the odd radio documentary, we aren’t reminded.

At Christmas, visit a card shop and amongst the Father Christmases and Tweenies, nativity cards of various levels of taste line the shelves. We put up decorations which include stars and angels; some have nativity scenes or defer to the dioramas which appear in town centres. We sing carols which talk about the messiah’s birth.

At Easter, despite the best efforts of Hallmark the sending of Easter cards hasn’t really penetrated. There isn’t the widespreading put up of decorations, although kids do make chicks and eggs at school; we don’t re-enact the crucifixion or the resurrection with little tableaus and frankly hanging a cross up in Williamson Square in Liverpool would be a touch scary. I asked my Mum about Easter songs and she said they tend to be a bit durge like.

Plus I’m not actually part of any organized religion as such. As far as I can gather there are only three of us non-denomination spiritualists in the world and looking at their websites we all differ in some fundamental ways.

It’s almost as though the whole reason for swapping Chocolate eggs isn’t important. It’s about the action, and it feels like as I’m older even that bit isn’t as funny as it used to be. Instead of masses of eggs this year I was grateful to received ‘Withnail & I’ on DVD.

Perhaps I should be grateful I remembered something about it, even though it was too late. Not a total loss yet, maybe.

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