Saturday Was On Tuesday
Saturday Was On Tuesday
Hearing the dawn chorus was a wonderful way to wake in the morning. Having the first strains of summer sunlight drift through gaps in the curtains just helped to improve it. Once Paul realised it was Tuesday this made the morning perfect.
Unlike most of the working world, who were currently sitting in queues of traffic with a sickly feeling of depression as their car slowly edged its way to work, he was lying in bed completely refusing to let the concerns of the world invade his private nirvana. Existing in that half-conscious state which allowed free flowing thoughts without restriction.
For Paul Tuesday was his Saturday. He’d spent the real Saturday sitting in a call centre extolling the virtues of consolidating debts into one easy loan so this was his opportunity to relax. In an hour or so he would stumble out of bed, make a cup of tea, and sit watching taped episodes of ‘The Simpsons’ whilst sitting on the sofa in his underwear.
‘The Simpsons’. Paul considered it be the pinnacle of human achievement. He was glad he lived in the same era as that programme. He was glad he lived in the same era as TV. He couldn’t imagine a time before TV. A society without that little box to fill in the social hours seemed an alien and inhospitable world to Paul.
His parents used to say people had less spare time once so maybe that explained why they didn’t need ‘The Simpsons’ and other programmes. At school Paul had been shocked to learn people once worked seven days a week in factories. Even thinking of it now, whilst lying in bed with his eyes half open, sent a small shiver along his spine. Paul would never have survived the Industrial Revolution.
The thing about Paul was that he needed spare time, two days a week to call his own, and that’s why he needed TV - to fill those hours. He often wondered how many people in the 1800’s had been born with his outlook.
How many people had spent their entire lives in misery, never having twenty-four hours to call their own, just living in an endless cycle of work, sleep, work, sleep. Maybe most people in the Industrial Revolution felt like that. It would explain why miners always looked so miserable in photographs.
Paul rolled onto his side as his mind wandered. People like those miners would be people out of time. Forced to existing in a period that didn’t match their character, their talents, that would leave their aspirations unclear. It was nightmare almost beyond comprehension.
What if Shakespeare had been born in the Stone Age; his words lost forever for want of a written language? What if Marx had been born in the time of Feudalism; filled with a rage on behalf of a class of people that didn’t even exist? What would Ghandi have fought for if the British had not ruled India?
Great figures in History were fortunate. Martin Luther King, Emmeline Pankhurst, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, Matt Groening. These, and many others, were there just at the perfect moment in history to mark their mark on the world. For Paul it was exactly the same.
Not in a grand way, Paul knew he would never achieve greatness in that sense, but on a smaller scale he was just as well suited for his time as great figures had been for theirs. This was where Paul fitted in, where small things like having a Saturday on a a Tuesday made all the difference. Smiling at this thought Paul opened his eyes fully and stretched. It was time for that cup of tea.
Hearing the dawn chorus was a wonderful way to wake in the morning. Having the first strains of summer sunlight drift through gaps in the curtains just helped to improve it. Once Paul realised it was Tuesday this made the morning perfect.
Unlike most of the working world, who were currently sitting in queues of traffic with a sickly feeling of depression as their car slowly edged its way to work, he was lying in bed completely refusing to let the concerns of the world invade his private nirvana. Existing in that half-conscious state which allowed free flowing thoughts without restriction.
For Paul Tuesday was his Saturday. He’d spent the real Saturday sitting in a call centre extolling the virtues of consolidating debts into one easy loan so this was his opportunity to relax. In an hour or so he would stumble out of bed, make a cup of tea, and sit watching taped episodes of ‘The Simpsons’ whilst sitting on the sofa in his underwear.
‘The Simpsons’. Paul considered it be the pinnacle of human achievement. He was glad he lived in the same era as that programme. He was glad he lived in the same era as TV. He couldn’t imagine a time before TV. A society without that little box to fill in the social hours seemed an alien and inhospitable world to Paul.
His parents used to say people had less spare time once so maybe that explained why they didn’t need ‘The Simpsons’ and other programmes. At school Paul had been shocked to learn people once worked seven days a week in factories. Even thinking of it now, whilst lying in bed with his eyes half open, sent a small shiver along his spine. Paul would never have survived the Industrial Revolution.
The thing about Paul was that he needed spare time, two days a week to call his own, and that’s why he needed TV - to fill those hours. He often wondered how many people in the 1800’s had been born with his outlook.
How many people had spent their entire lives in misery, never having twenty-four hours to call their own, just living in an endless cycle of work, sleep, work, sleep. Maybe most people in the Industrial Revolution felt like that. It would explain why miners always looked so miserable in photographs.
Paul rolled onto his side as his mind wandered. People like those miners would be people out of time. Forced to existing in a period that didn’t match their character, their talents, that would leave their aspirations unclear. It was nightmare almost beyond comprehension.
What if Shakespeare had been born in the Stone Age; his words lost forever for want of a written language? What if Marx had been born in the time of Feudalism; filled with a rage on behalf of a class of people that didn’t even exist? What would Ghandi have fought for if the British had not ruled India?
Great figures in History were fortunate. Martin Luther King, Emmeline Pankhurst, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, Matt Groening. These, and many others, were there just at the perfect moment in history to mark their mark on the world. For Paul it was exactly the same.
Not in a grand way, Paul knew he would never achieve greatness in that sense, but on a smaller scale he was just as well suited for his time as great figures had been for theirs. This was where Paul fitted in, where small things like having a Saturday on a a Tuesday made all the difference. Smiling at this thought Paul opened his eyes fully and stretched. It was time for that cup of tea.
posted by Myles Winstone | 6:09 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home