Remember Sundays back in the sixties? I remember as a kid in Liverpool that Sundays were synonymous with a long lie in, boys brigade bands, trips out over the river to New Brighton, watching the only man with a car in the street washing it, quiet roads with slow Sunday drivers out for picnics, women cursing at the roast going cold waiting for the men to get back from the alehouse which supposedly closed at 1 o'clock, and if you ran out of anything, tough! There were no shops open.
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