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When I was growing up, my least favourite days of the week were Wednesdays and Sundays.

Most people of a certain age will recognise the features of a suburban Sunday in the 1960s and even into the 1970s. Shops were all closed, apart from the odd newsagent/sweet shop where you could go for sweets after Sunday School – a few penny chews, a tube of refreshers, some sherbet lemons, perhaps. Sundays were Two Way Family Favourites on the radio while the smell of roasting meat and potatoes filled the house. Later, if you were lucky, there was a BBC serial to watch on the television around 5 – a Dickens adaptation, a children’s classic story of some kind, Children of the New Forest, Little Women – then an evening which seemed curtailed by the prospect of Monday morning and a scurry to find lost school books and unearth the satchel from where it was dropped on Friday afternoon.

Sundays, in other words, were dull.

And Wednesdays were too. I loathed Wednesdays.

And why? Because when we came out of school on Wednesday afternoon, the shops were shut. Early Closing Day was a feature of towns for years and something that anyone under the age of 50 odd no doubt finds bewildering. Walking from school through a town where all the shops were shut was unappealing, boring, bland. It didn’t matter that on other days of the week we rarely went into any of them – although we usually found an excuse to wander through Smiths and browse amongst the loose-leaf files and pens and pencils – it was the lack of choice about the matter. The sight of closed up shops was dispiriting.

As it is now. Even if you don’t want to go into them, you want to have the prerogative of choice.

So, in these strange days of ours, every day of the week  is like the Wednesday afternoons and Sundays of  the past.

So, logically,  every day should feel the same.

But it doesn’t. Some days are so much harder to handle than others – and nearly everyone I know has said the same.

And for me, in this new parallel universe, Saturdays are the new Sunday. Saturday is now like Sunday used to be.

I think it’s a matter of current Sundays being so similar to the ones we grew up with that it’s possible to trick the mind into thinking, ok, of course it’s quiet and the streets are deserted and everyone is trying to make the most they can of it by going for long walks with the family and occupying their time as best as possible given limits because it’s SUNDAY!! 

Whereas Saturdays. Well. Saturdays are meant to be vibrant, lazy, industrious, exciting, pleasurable – in other words, Saturdays should be a day of choice.

As a mid and late teenager, Saturday was often a working day – the Saturday job day, earning money, emulating adults, mixing in the ‘real world,’ behind the counter of shops, in the kitchen at cafes – knowing that at the end of the day money would be handed over in a small brown envelope providing funds to spend in shops the following week.  So choices increased as a result.

Does anyone else have a tendency to synaesthesia?

I have always given the days of the week a colour. And those colours have always been the same. For years and years and years, the colours have failed to change. I used to think everyone did this – but reading more about it begins to convince me that it’s not that normal a thing …not that usual or common at all …

So here goes:

Mondays are lime green, Tuesdays, a warm red, Wednesdays are a light brown, Thursdays definitely dark brown, Fridays are bright yellow, Saturdays are pure white and Sundays are uncompromising black.

But for the time being, all that has to be on hold  because although Saturdays have now taken over Sundays in the least favourite days’ rating stakes, every other day feels – well, the same. Similar. Indistinguishable. Even when working from home. Especially when working from home.

So colours are irrelevant. My synaesthesia tendencies are entirely on hold for the duration.

Or are they?

Already, I find myself searching for the most appropriate fit- a little like a Farrow and Ball Elephant’s Breath description (really, how close to an elephant did they stand to come up with that one …)or one of the many hundreds of ways Dulux manage to describe basic white. And I’ve got as far as Saturday. Which, in my reckoning has changed from pure white to something along the colour of sludgy, muddy footpaths after heavy rain.

And recently, my familiarity with footpaths and bridle paths has increased dramatically as I take advantage of the ‘allowed out for exercise’ clause in our confinement.

But that subject’s for another day.

Whatever its colour …


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