I heard Sir Ray Davies’ classic, evocative song Days, the other day on the radio and it got me thinking of… well… days I suppose. I thought of the time when all the seven days of the week were as individual as shop-fronts, motor cars and hit singles.
I lways felt the first day of the week was a priceless gift.
Mondays were the start of a fresh week, a time for new ideas; new adventures; new thoughts, and even a kick-start to your week. If that didn’t work for you then they were great days to just stay in and wait for the Eircom guy to phone you back and explain why the internet highway had, once again, failed to make it all the way to Donegal. Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get me Down by The Carpenters is a perfect record for a Monday, or any day of the week for that matter. Any day is always a great day to take solace in Karen Carpenter’s pure yet soulful voice. For a comparable car I’ve always associated the Austin A40 with the first day of the week if only because it was my dad’s first car. Thankfully he spared us the threatened Ford Anglia.
Tuesday Afternoon by the magnificent Moodies, a.k.a. The Moody Blues, heralded the day, which sadly usually turned out to be a day as disappointed with their station (assuming of course days can be disappointed in themselves) as someone might who came before or after a sibling. That is to say they were neither the first nor the last, which of course was no big deal unless you chose to make it so. I nominate Tuesday’s twinned automobile an Yves Klein shade of blue (I’m dreaming of course) Volkswagen Beetle.
Wednesdays always seemed to be trying to prolong their worth, while attempting to shun it’s “mid” - as in midweek - prefix. At the same time the midweek football match was always a treat. Wednesdays were also the perfect night for the telly, including, Colin Dexter and John Thaw’s classic, timeless series, Morse. Wednesday Morning 3 A.M. by Simon & Garfunkel and a maroon Jaguar MK 2 (but only if the cream leather seats smelt factory new) completed my midweek soundtrack and picture. Every day had to have some kind of badge of honour and Wednesday’s badge was most definitely the Jag, if only because there would always be something special about a Wednesday but, just like Morse’s maroon Jag, you’d have to look just that wee bit closer to enjoy the warm and fuzzy feeling.
If you ask me, Thursdays were always a wee bit too cheeky for their own good and were never above trying to steal some of Friday’s thunder. Thursday’s car definitely has to be a Vauxhall VX 490 though, racing green with white side flashes. Both the car and the song, (Thursday) Here’s Why I Didn’t Go To Work Today, by Harry Nilsson, helped catch Thursday’s mood perfectly.
It’s Finally Friday, by George Jones…thanks to the Ready Steady Go TV show, Friday was always blessed with The Weekend Starts Here tagline. Yet another work week had sailed smoothly (or otherwise) to a close. A worthy BIG day even without Miss Cathy McGowan. Definitely the ideal day for the eternal Mercedes SL200 (preferably with the soft top down).
Saturday Night at The Movies by The Drifters perfectly celebrated the most anticipated day of the hallowed seven. Equally Saturday’s preferred car just has to be a red and white Vauxhall Cresta complete with white-walled tyres. The design was obviously nicked from the USA, and that isn’t meant to be a negative because it was the coolest looking saloon ever manufactured in the UK. The Cresta was a vital addition to the exceptional composition of the penultimate day of the week. Saturday was meant to be a play day, a chore-free day but there were always too many things that had built up over the week which needed to be done, just absolutely had to be done, if only to ensure the Sabbath’s tag of, day of rest (and worship) was valid. You didn’t mind all the extra chores, including a visit to the laundrette, though, because Saturday night would always be a night out and you didn’t mind how late you stayed out because…
…Sunday’s permitted lie-in, late breakfast and a few hours with the papers were the perfect lazy start to your final day of the week. And if you still weren’t in gear then a nap on the sofa, in front of the fire, after a large lunch, wasn’t out of the question. Car-wise think of one of the woodie station wagons that Jimmy Stewart or Henry Fonda might have driven… for instance a 1950s Plymouth Special Deluxe and, ideally, with Sunday Morning Coming Down by Kris Kristofferson on the car radio.
Nowadays, days seems to lack of individuality. In fact they seem to be so bland, that if you blink you could miss where one ends and the next one starts. Talking about lacking in character, beauty or charm, the current crop of automobiles - the majority of which seem to be 4x4 vehicles, more like eight legged rhinos - all appear to come from the same drawing board, where, really… they should have remained.
But surely Monday to Sunday should be allowed to be much more than what has become, undistinguishable 24 hour periods where you monitor fingernail, hair, and toe nail growth?
The other major worry is that these days, without their own unique character, now flash past in such a blur with no respect whatsoever for how many daily cycles you may have remaining in your life. I mean we humans really need our individual days. We need to embrace them, nurture them, and savour them and to take care to tick them off one by one, if only so we can consider them as… well… days.
So, let’s re-introduce, and celebrate, their uniqueness and spend them well.
