I thought all days were the same. I thought they were all holidays too. Not that you do the same thing every day. For example, we go for different walks (although we always go for some), or we go driving in my Landy, or we go camping, or we go to our new kennelflat.
But mistress says no, they are not the same. So it must be true. From Monday to Friday some poor people have to go to a place called “Office”.
They go out in the morning (leaving their companion dogs behind – pooooh – this sounds rubbish already) and come back in the evening. They usually bring “papers” back home with them, like the stuff that mistress has been messing with for the last two days. Apart from doing things with these papers, they don’t have time for much else apart from grabbing something to eat and falling into bed. Sometimes they exchange a couple of sentences with their partners and their dogs.
On Saturday and Sunday they don’t go to Office. Although they still might have lots of “papers” to work on. Well, I have to say right now the obvious thing to do is not go to Office at all, but work on these paper things at home. Pippadog has cracked it.
No, says mistress patiently. It doesn’t work like that. She used to go to Office too.
The best days of the week are Friday and Saturday – according to mistress. I would have thought they would be Saturday and Sunday. But no, – Pippadog is wrong again.
Friday is cool because when you wake up in the morning you know it is the last working day of the week in Office and you have a weekend in front of you. It is called Poets Day. This means you can go home early because tomorrow is Saturday. Although mistress says she didn’t go home early very often, but the idea is there.
The very best day of all is Saturday. This is because when you wake up you have a moment of blissful euphoria. I think what mistress really means is, that it is like dreaming about chasing a cat, and just getting your paws on top of it. And then you wake up, happy that you caught it and a whole day ahead of you to do it all over again.
Nearly Pippa, you’ve got the right idea. So, mistress says, the blissful euphoria is that wonderful moment when you realise you do not have to go to Office that day. Or even the next day. Two full days off. And then, although you can stay in bed which you normally want to do – but can’t, you don’t want to do it on Saturday because you are at home, so you spring out of bed.
Sunday should be good, and often you can go for a long walk in the morning. But there is a Big Cloud looming over Sunday called Back to Work on Monday. And sometimes Sunday afternoon or evening is spent on Papers. I am beginning to think these Papers need chewing up.
Anyway a Bank Holiday is when people in Offices stay at home, although some of them still might have to do Papers. Mistress says these rules don’t apply to her any more so it was ok for her to do Papers today – at home – of course, or Pippadog would be putting his large paw down.
I’m glad I’m a dog. Oh and we have just had such a good walk, we spotted sooooooo many cats that I tried to chase and mistress would not let me. She would not let me drag her under a car, into the bushes, or halfway down the hill. Boring. This Office stuff and Papers is going to her head – she needs to stop being so assertive.
Anyway, I’m glad she doesn’t go to Office anymore. I don’t think anyone else should have to go either.
Hey mistress, where is my pic? Why have we got a calm and serene coastal pic? I am not on it. It’s rubbish. Bring back Pippapix.
Edited by mistress to say the pic is to show there is life after the office. Honest.