I hate Saturday. The day. And the song by Elton John.

I have mixed feelings about Saturdays. Always have done. Everyone else seems to absolutely love the day that you can fritter away doing menial tasks with the promise of Sunday lurking around the corner, guaranteed to bore you to death with sore heady-style programmes like ‘Song of Praise’. That’s the good thing about Sunday- its shit, and always will be. You know where you stand with it- even though its your free time, you know that the calabre of tasks that lie ahead are inevitably going to be so depressing and humdrum (like watching The Borrowers and starving yourself all day for the plate of overcooked lifeboats swimming atop a sea of lumpy Bisto) that you pray for the sweet release of death. Or Monday. Whatever.

But Saturday is not that day. It’s a day of lie ins, eating crap, going out and vomitting up all the crap you ate earlier on that day- for most people. Unfortunately, I am not most people and am incredibly uptight, so I don’t like going out to the disco. Oh fuck, even the fact that I say things like ‘going out to the disco’ should indicate that I’m so not down with the kids. This could go on all day.

To be fair, I don’t think anyone really likes going out. Slutting yourself up and putting on your face to sit in a darkened room with a bunch of horrible fuckers gyrating around the floor, who, instead of suffering through usual conversations with, you now have to strain to hear. And it turn out they were talking bollocks anyway. But none of that matters, because you’re having a great time. No, really. Please like me. And then, if you’re lucky enough to escape date rape by either other nighclub attendee bastards or your taximan, you have a wonderful day of weeping and ‘the fear’ ahead of you, where the residual alchol in your system encourages an existentialist crisis. You must re-evaluate your life purpose immediately. What am I doing here? Why do I need alcohol to socialise? Why oh why oh why??? Whineeeeeeeeeeee…..

But at least I have The Borrowers to look forward to. Or I would have, if this was 1994. See, I told you I wasn’t down with the kids.

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