Sundays as a kid in Belfast, the street reeked of over-boiled cabbage. It was almost always cloudy, and if you called round your friends to come out and play, they weren't allowed.
Paisley's church would blast the beats of brethren Muzak for a three-mile radius for the neighbourhood to 'enjoy', and if the Sally-Ann appeared in the street, the false hope of free sweets never failed to attract.
I was a heathen and didn't know it. I was born outside of wedlock during a time where a lack of a Wedding Ring on Mum's finger was cause for social gawping. Never christened for obvious reasons. That, and my dad was raised in a Brethren household, which made him anti-religious.
The devil resided in our primary school basement. If you said a bad word ("aughty, aughty aughty"), you paid him a visit, never to return. He used you as fuel for the boiler. The teachers put that one about to encourage religious etiquette, and I believed it like I believed in Santa. More than Santa. Satan, but back then I didn't know the name.
About 40years later I decided to commission his portrait (as shown below). Turns out his chagrin for religious old spinsters with a sadistic penchant for little kids is the preferred energy source for his home heating.
by esquiresque