Ian McMillan: Why the week that was may have had its day

Of course I knew it was Friday, but I reckon that even if I didn’t know I’d know, if you get my drift. There were people out and about, dressed in a casual and Fridayish way. A man strolled past in a Hawaiian shirt that was so loud it drowned out the laughter of the gaggle of girls nearby. They were wearing tiny shorts and vests so they looked like an Olympic disco netball team, if such a thing exists. And if it doesn’t it should.

A gent carrying a briefcase and wearing a suit walked slowly through the street scene, past the girls and the man in the deafening shirt, and this businessman looked as though he’d arrived from the wrong day. He belonged to Monday, or a Tuesday, a suit-wearing briefcase-lugging day.

Conversely, I imagined the man in the noisy shirt would have stuck out like a sore thumb on a Thursday because, unless you’re in a Beach Boys tribute band at a corporate team-bonding event, you don’t wear that kind of garb midweek.

I guess it’s obvious, though, that you can always tell when the weekend is. If I ever used a word like vibe, I’d say that Friday and Saturday and, to a lesser extent, Sunday gave out a weekend vibe.

There’s relaxation in the air, and the promise of bright lights or a barbecue or a brief encounter or a spree, and the rest of the week has a completely different sheen. But even within the weekend there are gradations. My kids tell me that Saturday is the big night out these days, whereas when I was their age and a lot of people got paid on a Friday with brown envelopes that bulged and jingled, Friday was the jewel in the week’s crown.

Friday, in 2011, has a heartfelt sigh of relief as its soundtrack, whereas Saturday has a whoop of desperation and loud throbbing music pounding from the window of a speeding car. As for Sunday, that’s a low murmur before Monday lurches into view, a sizzle of Yorkshire puddings, a soft snoring rising from a settee in the afternoon.

Of course this segmentation of the days of the week wouldn’t have happened before the Industrial Revolution really got going in the 19th century, especially in Yorkshire. Before the pits got sunk and the mills got built and the steelworks started churning it out the days of the week would have gone like this: day, day, day, day, day, day, Sunday, with the Day of Rest being the only different one.

For the other days, you just got out of bed and dug turnips and went to bed with bits of soil in your hair and turnip detritus under your fingernails. Then the working week developed and the weekend came into its own. As people worked less on Saturday, that day became another day of rest when you didn’t go to church: you went to the football instead.

Then the next day you went to church and on Sunday night your parents would say “School in the morning!” and you’d feel a sense of dread because you hadn’t done your homework, but not as much dread as the people who had to go down the mine or walk into the hell of a furnace to make steel.

Monday, of course, was washday in a lot of homes round these parts and the pants flapping on the line like Y-front bunting told you where you were in the week. Tuesday was a quiet day when my mam did piles of ironing. Wednesday has always been the week’s fulcrum, the turning point, the gateway to the driveway to the weekend.

Thursday was, at one time, when some people got their bulging brown envelope, and for them the weekend began on Thursday night, and Friday was the weekend and Saturday was the weekend and Sunday was either the last day of the week before or the first day of the week to come, depending on your point of view.

But I wonder for how long each day of the week will retain its unique flavour? Is Sunday that different any more? How can you distinguish Tuesday from Thursday unless you’re carrying a calendar?

In these fragmented times, is there actually such a thing as the working week any more, or are the days blending into one, like in the old days with the turnips? If you have no job then every day is the same and if you have a dull, dull job then every day is the same.

Let’s just have a simple rule: Hawaiian shirts every Friday, then we’ll all know where we are and we’ll be able to work out the week from there.