Sunday morning always seems like such a special time to me. An in-between sort of time with nothing in particular to do, so you can do anything. No one’s likely to ring or email and there’s definitely nothing in my diary, so I begin the day by enthusiastically doing nothing at all. I’m good at that.
Before long ‘nothing at all’ turns into turning on the radio, which delights me by playing a couple of 13th century favourites, both of them about warmer days to come. Making me realise I’ve once again not turned the central heating on, for the severalth day running. Summer’s not yet ‘icumen in’ as the second of the songs claims, but spring is.
Book packed and camera charged up I go out.
Into Greenbank Park and along Greenbank Lane spring is poking its many coloured heads towards the sun. Though its obvious from the soil on their stems and leaves and more than a few battered petals that our new visitors have had a harsh time with the unexpected snowfalls this past week. Anyway, you are all welcome here. It always makes my heart glad to see you bringing in another spring.
Crossing into Sefton Park I see that ‘The Tree’ is coming into blossom. This is clearly a collection of bushes rather than a single tree, but ‘The Tree’ Sarah and I have always called it, so I can proudly announce that it’s in blossom and therefore spring is now officially here.
Sarah, by the way, is on sea kayaking business this morning. Not out on the sea itself, she left our house soon after eight this morning to go on a VHF Radio course ready for her planned excursions around Anglesey and the Outer Hebrides this summer. Before the end of the day she’ll have taken an exam in safety on the ocean waves. And will be telling you more herself on here before long.
Meanwhile I walk on while around me Sunday morning is full of energetic activities.
What’s this? Something like basketball on grass, with three balls, sticks and three hoops at either end to aim at? Whatever it is I’m glad to see both sexes are involved and enjoying themselves shouting out what sounds like the rules they’re all making up as they go.
This one’s easier to understand. Part of an ‘activities path’ (probably not what they call it) the Council have recently had installed towards the Ullet Road end of the park.
I walk through the Sunday morning springtime to Lark Lane.
Summer dresses are in one window, a special mother’s day display in Number 13 and it’s hello to ‘Nonno’s’ which has replaced Esteban.
Naturally I assume ‘Nonno’s’ is Italian for ‘Yer Nan’s’ but it turns out to mean ‘Grandad’s.’ Close though.
Outside the Old Police Station Community Centre there’s a sale of old stuff going on. Old LPs, David Cassidy duly noted, lots of children’s books and, particularly catching my eye, this ‘Handbook on Shotgun Shooting.’
It’s an American publication and claims to be about ‘sport.’ Yeah.
I sit on the wall of the park, as ever, reading my own book. Where no children are slaughtered in their school and my benign Sunday morning mood continues into making up the title of this blog post. ‘Sunday Morning’ by the Velvet Underground and Nico gets quietly sung.
Then, as afternoon comes in, the sun hides behind clouds and it all feels a bit like winter as I start walking again.
But the morning’s been a pleasure, as Sunday morning’s are. This one particularly brightened by some recent good news about me and a PhD I’m really happy about. Yes, be telling you more soon.
For now, here’s the Sunday Morning song:
One of a pair of ‘In Liverpool’ posts from one weekend in March 2018. The other, from the Tate Gallery and featuring the work of Chester Aid for the homeless is here.