The Back End

Whether you call it Zaterdag, Samedi, Samstag, Saturni or Sadwrn (those who know me well will identify the languages with which I've dabbled over the years), Saturday is for many - and I include myself here - the 'stub-end' of the week.  It's the day when 'stuff' that has overflowed from other days is lined up to get knocked off, polished off, cleared out of the way, or whatever other metaphor you choose to use.

I don't know whether this technique is still current in primary schools today, but 60-plus years ago we had diary boards.  A broad strip of the wall all the way round the classroom was coated with blackboard material.  Each of us was allocated our section of this and on Monday mornings we were provided with chalk and encouraged to write our 'news', the story of what we'd done over the weekend.  I suspect there was a fine balance between the educational benefit to the children and the amusement factor for the teachers.  Six-year-olds aren't know for diplomatic reticence when it comes to family and domestic affairs!

This week a notice was displayed in as many places as seemed appropriate - including the gents' toilet! - at the warehouse where I presently volunteer twice a week, advertising a vacancy for a part-time van driver.  I was told rather pointedly, "You can apply for this if you like." so I read it closely.  The position advertised was for the equivalent of two days a week, with hours flexible but based mainly at the weekend.

I fairly swiftly rejected the idea because, as you might expect, I won't work on Sundays apart from for the most exceptional reasons.  I can think of only one occasion during my employed career when I did so.  It was at the annual stocktaking in a factory where I had been working for two or three years.  The senior accountant had estimated that it could all be completed by Saturday lunchtime if normal working stopped at 4.0 on Friday.  In point of fact with everyone working Friday evening and all day Saturday it still wasn't done by 6.0 pm, and we had to go in on Sunday as well.  I think I was home by mid-afternoon, but the effect on motivation during the following week was quite remarkable.  The fact that I'd lost a weekend upset the whole pattern of my life.

While working as a courier, the only work I would do on Sunday was the occasional pick-up ready for an early start on Monday morning, and I believe on one occasion I left home on Sunday evening to make an 8.0 am delivery in Scotland the next day.  Saturdays are a different thing; for many years, I used to work regularly on Saturday mornings, sometimes until 1.0 or 2.0 in the afternoon, occasionally all day.  For part of those years I was getting paid overtime for it, but always there was the question, how much can be squashed into a weekend?

In these days of retirement it might seem that there is all week to fit 'stuff' into, but lots of interests are at regular times, and some things are always on Saturdays because they involve others who are still of working age.  As I considered this particular job, I quickly counted up nineteen Saturdays in the year when I wouldn't be able to commit to working all day without sacrificing something or other that has become part of my life.  And that's without my increasing attendance at football matches!  It seems that I've been to 21 matches already this season, with at least one more planned, a local cup final next week, compared to 15 in the whole of last season.

I'm wondering how long those notices will remain on display, and how long before an anonymous graffito appears on one or other of them!  I suspect that there are many like me who value their weekends over and above what money can be made out of them.