Bank Holidays. What are they? What are they for?

idiot patriotSo here we are in the UK just coming out of one of those strange day-long holidays us Brits call ‘Bank Holidays’. In truth, no-one on this sceptered isle has any idea what they are, what they are meant to celebrate or indeed, why they exist. Bank Holidays are a complete mystery. They are just there. 24 hours of nothingness.

Everything closes. You cannot buy food or medical supplies. God help you if you are starving or near death from say, want of a life-saving drug. If it’s bank holidays my friend, you are doomed.

What just happened?

What usually happens (especially in my household) is they (Bank Holidays) creep up behind you and bite you in the arse (or ass for my American friends). In other words, no one knows they are coming. They are always a complete and absolute surprise.

It happens like this…

You wake up one morning expecting another boring day at work, (you even get out of bed at your usual unearthly hour), when someone (usually from an adjoining bedroom), shouts…‘it’s a Bank Holiday’. Y

You suddenly realise, you and millions of others have the day off. You might even smile as you crawl back into bed.

Reality hits…

Now this is all very well and good. ‘What can be better than a surprise holiday (even if it is only for a day)’? I hear you ask?

Well, first of all, a bit more notice would be a good thing.

Secondly, you have to understand that there are one or two givens that come with this ‘holiday’. One of which is stress.

It’s maybe a day off but, you have to understand that it’s a day off for everyone else in the UK. A day off for even those whose job it is, is to cater for those who are on a day off.

This means you cannot go anywhere. You cannot go anywhere because there is no-one there. ‘There’ being wherever you want to go.

Ergo. The ‘holiday’ is therefore to be spent at home.

Now, let’s say that you refuse to accept this. That you are determined to make something of a day where you don’t have to go into the factory. Let’s say you are determined to make a day out with the family. A picnic, with a basket and everything.

You have just made a… A foolish and impossible decision.

You can make all the plans you like but you will, literally, be trapped behind your front door.

The roads will be jammed packed. You will, and this is a fact, will not even be able to find a gap in the traffic to pull your car out of its garage.

Indeed, the news, TV or otherwise will be full of reports of clogged highways and byways and nothing else. No American massacres, no African famines, nothing but UK traffic reports.

It gets worse…

I know this is hard to make sense of, but the miles and miles of this stationary traffic will be caused by UK people. People who should know better. They will be British Drivers who know full well that to go out ‘for a drive’ on a Bank Holiday is tantamount to aiming for a brick wall with no brakes.

So, you have to ask, ‘Why do they do it?’

The answer? No-one knows. It’s a mystery.

Personally, I believe the Government releases a ‘Bank Holiday Virus’. A ‘germ’ that exhibits itself by making the recipients exhibit a behaviour bordering on the insane. A virus so finally tuned that it lasts for exactly 24 hours. So potent is its biological make-up that upon the stroke of midnight we, the infected retire to our beds to wake up the next morning with absolutely no clear memory of the previous 24 hours. Only knowing that we feel exhausted from our seemingly never-ending labours, impatient for the next break in what seems our never-ending schedule of work.

This entry was posted in complaint, curmudgeon, Family, Personal, Taking a break. Bookmark the permalink.

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