My new landlady has a special Good Friday tradition passed down from her grandmother: hot cross buns for breakfast. Everyone is invited – neighbors, friends, family, new tenants from far off lands. Currently the kitchen is full of the sounds of happy stomachs and sticky fingers.
I was told, by an elderly gentleman who looked like a kid in a candy store, that you can’t get buns this nice anywhere else. He was right – nothing like homemade buns to start the Easter holiday. Though, for a holiday that is held in such high regard (no footy is played today out of respect), it feels weird to be enjoying myself on this most solemn day of the Christian calendar. I guess we could say that watching two adorable grand daughters play with the new kitten is celebrating what Christ died to save, but I think it’s more fair to say that the public holiday takes anything solemn out of the day. Secular folk eat fish instead of meat, but for no other reason than “your supposed to”.