Or not.
A long time ago – like last month – I used to look forward to the weekends for the more relaxed pace, not having to get up at 5.45am, not having to make school lunches, and not having to be a sergeant major about homework and showers.
Remember when you were a child and you would wish, like Wizzard, that it could be Christmas every day? Well, I suppose we now know what it would be like if it was the weekend all the time. Or rather, because part of the pleasure of the weekend is that it is earned after a dull/hard/boring/endless/exciting/busy week – we now know what it would be like if the weekend didn’t matter because all the days are the same.
My mum’s brilliant pressie of day of the week socks used to keep me right – now who gives a toss?
