THIS MONTH: Sundays.
Yes, those quasi-religious 24-hour periods that were sacred, except for those folks deemed absolutely necessary and who earned double-time wages by working the ‘Christian Sabbath’.
If you ask an oldie, they will tell you how good it was to be unfettered by the impulse to shop and, although not dyed-in-the-wool religious, the notion that they could take a penniless stroll in and about their neighbourhood with only one eye looking over their shoulder.
Those blissful mornings where you rose from your pit without purpose but, more significantly, without the thought that you were compelled to serve a materialistic, avaricious and customer-identified fellow human being. A day when you spent time and not money, unless you went to church and were emotionally blackmailed to put a roof over the sermon’s head! A day when no bell tolled for thee!
A day for a Sunday toast of: Ah, no Bistro!