After all the drunkenness and overeating, we the nation slumped on our sofas yesterday in honour of “frazzled Friday”, as pop-sociologists have called it. It’s when our social immune systems finally give out, having been in overdrive for almost a week, dealing with relatives, in-laws, and stomaching vast amounts of stodgy stuff. It’s the moment when you realise you can no longer move without emitting involuntary noises or smells.
Everybody loves a syndrome these days, and Frazzled Friday is the perfect encapsulation of when a shared meme becomes a tenuous cultural institution. What’s next? Sober Saturday and Sleepy Sunday, ahead of the excesses of New Year’s Eve, I mean Mental Monday?
In truth, one could categorise every day of the Christmas period. Personally, I measure out my life Prufrock-style in dessert spoons: normally, I wouldn’t have a dessert but as the Big Day approaches, I start training myself with yoghurts. And by the time the sun sets on Boxing Day (I mean Thyroid Thursday), I’m practically eating trifle with a spade.
So when Frazzled Friday finally rolled round, in my house we were rolling around, too, having almost lost the use of our legs through gluttony. After the fourth day of stuffing ourselves, my baby niece started demanding pudding after her breakfast.
But take heart: life will get back to normal soon – just as soon as Terrible Tuesday and Back-to-Work Wednesday are out of the way. Then there’s only Blue Monday and Black Wednesday to go, before Friday I’m in Love.
Still, in all seriousness, we must enjoy these special occasions, these latter-day saints’ days, while we can. Because once we’re back into the usual drudgery of nameless, featureless, utterly unmemorable dates that fly past and do nothing but age us, we’ll be nostalgic for Frazzled Friday, even if you – like me – spent it wanting your real life back, your pores oozing custard.