Just for the record, I despise U2. They used to be a really good band, but then Bono's ego became too large to fit in the UK and they had to leave, for fear of sinking the whole island under the weight of his self-importance: or they should have left, anyway. I mean, come on... first they produce the whole Rattle & Hum crap, then they start sounding like INXS (who really were a jolly good band) and now they just continue spewing mediocre crap-music all over the place. With Bono (who, in addition, has the gall to call himself Bono Vox... puh-leeeeaaaase) also turning into a political prostitute, I have had enough of them.

But that's beside the point. This post isn't about U2. It's about waking up every Sunday morning feeling awful and how great it is to finally get rid of that feeling.

There's a reason for everything. I firmly believe this, as I firmly believe that psychology works and that all my ex-girlfriends need plenty of it. For me, Sunday mornings were always difficult: I'd wake up with a pounding headache, feeling sick. I'd stagger around for a few hours and, fairly frequently, would end up taking a nap in the early afternoon just to feel better.

Then one day, recently, I understood. My father was a very religious man (a Methodist preacher, no less), so I grew up being forced to go to Church every Sunday. If there's ever something you really don't want to do to your kids, it's to force religion on them. That really is monumentally stupid. Of course, it fits the Christian Church perfectly, since they're one of the foremost promoters of guilt and fear on our planet. (Note that I specifically say the Christian Church, that is 'the administration', and not Christianity itself, with which I have no problem at all.)

Anyway, I would be forced to go off to Church every week like a good little boy, right up to the age of fourteen or sixteen. I even ran the risk at one time of getting myself baptised purely to please my father. How ridiculous is that? Well, it's not, of course: my dad was a wonderful man and obviously every child wants their parents to love them. I'm meandering around my subject, though. Why did I feel so bad every Sunday? Because being sick was the easiest way to get out of going to Church!

As soon as I understood this, the horrible feelings of sickness went away. Now Sunday mornings are lovely, wake-up-slowly-and-enjoy-the-moment days. Of course, the down-side (as with most psychological things) is that I obviously haven't completely understood the problem...

...now Saturdays are awful instead.