Friday has a delicious, fizzy feeling to it. There is a tingling sense of anticipation, a realisation that finally, it’s kick back time, the end of the week has arrived. There is something about that Friday feeling that’s addictive. Even my kids, when they wake up and I say “happy Friday” feel it; I get their “yay!” response.
Where does it start? Remembering back to my own childhood, Friday in our house was comic day. Bunty, Mandy and Nikki were purchased, from Winkles Newsagents, and I would rush to read them. Fridays meant a bag of chips from the chippers, with extra vinegar to be sucked from the brown paper as my mother finished her shopping in the supermarket next door. (DKL Supermarket and Marini’s chippers in case you’re wondering)
Friday’s in Primary School meant no homework if you were lucky and the nun was feeling generous.
There was such a “summer holiday” feeling to Friday.
As I got older Friday meant finishing school at 1pm and a big pile of homework and study to get through. It meant Emelina’s night club that night in Kilkea Castle where a few bottles of West Coast Cooler and the odd Black Russian were had.
Those night club Friday nights of my late teens and early twenties never saw enough alcohol taken to have Saturday ruined with a hangover.
That was for later on in life.
Friday night was the start of a weekend and a lot hung on it. If it was a quiet and boring Friday night, generally the remainder of the weekend would be the same. But at least the homework would be done and not left till I heard the theme tune from Glenroe at 8.30pm on Sunday.
Even when parenthood came along, Friday didn’t lose its heady promise. Yes, it was just another day as there was parenting and adulting to be done but Friday still felt fizzy for me. I remember anticipating the help I would have over the weekend with the babies. We could go into town and have coffee somewhere, maybe stroll around the shops. Yes, it was different to the weekends BC (Before Childer) but still the same. Kind of. Sort of.
I think the Friday feeling begins from a young age and, like most things, probably stems from our parents. I think it is a day where the first of traditions are born. And so it has come to pass that some of the Friday traditions from my youth have been carried on and into my boys’ childhood.
We have chips albeit those of the oven variety with a few chicken nuggets thrown in. Friday is Treat Friday where I take the boys’ “orders” in the morning and buy for them, in the same newsagents my mother bought my comics three decades ago, their sweets. But instead of the three comics of yesteryear, today there is one - The Beano. I have graduated from Mandy, Bunty and Judy to Irish Country Magazine, Image and Tatler to help me relax and unwind.
I often see the Beano comic left on the table. Abandoned, or so it seems to me.
“I keep it to read at bedtime,” he tells me.
So he savours it.
Just like I savoured my Mandy, Bunty and Nikki comics.