We who are gainfully employed at the weekends in mail order retail are inevitably prone to reliance upon the peripheral cortex, that jumble of parasympathetic nerve endings that have an autonomous existence and over which few of us have any control. And I have to accept my own dependence is due in part to being quite out of the loop through the more arduous weekday hours.
It's happy we weekend employees are to look forward to Monday, and then when work starts again for us at six o'clock on Saturday morning we turn up smiling, occasionally refreshed and anxious for gossip during the head count because we are falling like flies and management has stopped smiling.
Today of course is my Friday, yesterday was my Monday and tomorrow would have been the first day of my two and half day Saturday. There are those who sneer at such a schedule, but I would refer them to a further consideration of the time space continuum so ably addressed by both Stevie Griffin and even greater minds. Ask them to envision a wholesome device that expands the weekend by contracting the work week, then give me their answer.
This morning, I have to report, the device worked remarkably well, because my Friday lasted from ten minutes before five in the morning and was abruptly ended at two minutes before six in the morning by an empty car park stoutly defended by a padlocked gate. There was sniggering at home, naturally.