Welcome to the dawn of the summer holidays. C., a teacher, described to me her take on the summer holidays. The end of June, she says, is the equivalent of a Friday evening – it gives you that generous and spacious feeling of a weekend; time stretching ahead, filled with rest, adventure and possibility. Right now though, you’re spent, going to take it easy, set down life’s load for a while, decompress. July, well that’s Saturday, of course. You’re rested now, well slept, up for fun, ready to throw yourself energetically at liberation. All of which means that August – which we shouldn’t be thinking about just yet – is Sunday. You’re still off, but there’s a niggle, a hint of melancholy that this day (month) must come to an end.
I liked her description, how she scaled up the arc of a weekend to match the longest ‘weekend’ of all. You might be lucky enough not to recognise that Sunday feeling; maybe your heart soars rather than sinks with the prospect of return to routine, but I remember it. I remember being a girl who didn’t sleep so well on a Sunday night in anticipation of jumping back onto the school wheel, and I know some young people who feel that way now. I know a Sunday girl, and I am happy that these lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer lie ahead for her. Dry your eyes, Sunday girl, the next proper Sunday is a long way off.
Sunday Girl,Blondie (excerpt)
I know a girl from a lonely street,
Cold as ice cream but still as sweet,
Dry your eyes Sunday girl.
Hey, I saw your guy with a different girl.
Looks like he’s in another world,
Run and hide Sunday girl.
Hurry up, hurry up and wait
I stay away all week and still I wait
I got the blues, please come see
What your loving means to me
She can’t catch up with the working crowd
The weekend mood and she’s feeling proud
Live in dreams Sunday girl.
My Edinburgh Press 