Friday

If I could pick one thing that's great about no longer being a student, it'd be the rise of Friday to it's current heavenly status.

As a student, the days run into each other and the time you go to bed is dictated by the time of your first lecture in the morning, not by how far you've got through the week. Fridays and Saturdays tend not to be clubbing nights, because it means you have to mix with 'townies' - real people who work for a living and probably have knives hidden under their boob tubes. As a student, you'd much rather spend your time with someone called Tarquin who wears a beret and hasn't watched television since 1983.

But now, Fridays and Saturdays mean guilt-free nights out. There's no work in the morning, no essays to be getting on with, no overdraft to worry about...

Friday has a kind of hushed awe about it. It's the day of dressing down and eating crap. As I write this, I'm sitting here in my jeans and poncho, dreaming of a Square Pie from Selfridges.

So there ends my homage to the Friday.