I was in Bristol at the weekend and on my way back on the tube, tired after one of those Sunday evening train journeys that seems to go everywhere, via Westbury, crawling from Slough to Hayes and so on I was shocked to be engaged in conversation.
What day is it? said a rather drunk looking Australian clutching a can of Fosters.
Sunday, I replied.
I don't suppose you know why Sunday is called that do you? he asked, not in the "I know and I'm testing you" voice but in the "I don't know do you?" voice.
Had I had access to Wikipedia at that time, I could have replied: Sunday is named after Sunne, Germanic goddess of the sun, from which the word sun is also derived, although ultimately all English days names are derived from Roman or Greek mythology, in this case dies solis, respectively hêméra Hêliou.
But I didn't. So I admitted as such.
He then started banging on about Augustus and the month of August and April originally being the first month and all that shit.
For a moment I thought he was going to start banging on about Constantine and all that Da Vinci Code-esque bollocks.
Thankfully he didn't and I didn't feel the urge to get off a stop early to escape him.
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