I’m always glad when Easter is over.  It’ll be Good Friday soon, and then the Saturday, and then the Easter Sunday, and then they usually drag it out over the Monday.

If I write about it now, as a kind of preview, I may be able to avoid writing about the actual one – say what happens, how I felt, how I survived.

I hate Easter.

I’m not really religious, as they say, but I’m not going to apologise for that.  Those who are scandalized can bog off – as they say.

I speak specifics here, specifics to me.

There is something jarring from some Easter-past, that I have forgotten now – it’s on the tip of my brain –

I know.  There are Easter eggs, the Easter . . . chicks – the ringing wedding bells . . . church bells –

can remember, actually.  I went out on my usual food-shopping spree, this morning, and by the time I was coming back on the bus, I was thinking – of course!  Why didn’t I remember that when I was writing about Easter?

It just goes to show that you do hide things from yourself.

But I have only the details that I have, and there are some that I think must belong – but I couldn’t swear to it.

Lame ending, but it will not always be so.

Yes – I am very sorry to hear of the burning of Notre-Dame.