When the prime leader told us we all get a public holiday on Thursday, I can’t say I was overly thrilled.
It’s not that I have no interest in mourning the Queen’s passing. I’ve done that, and I’m happy to take to my couch to watch the official parades and ceremony as they transpire into the annals of history.
Many will no doubt jump up and down at the prime leader’s most generous offering, seeing the opportunity to forego productivity in favour of a rather long weekend. An Australian trait as old as convict civilisation.
While workers rejoice the declared day of freedom, and their right to ill-health on the Friday, those of us who are of retirement age will sit back and cuss. You see, what seems to be a treasured day of frivolity for most is a day stolen from the pensioner.
On a normal day, when you’re all out working and going to school, we wake up with a spring in our step knowing that the shopping centres, the cafes and the bowling alleys are all free for us to use as our own.
Mid-week is our time to shine. If you get time away from your jobs or your classrooms on one of the “normal” days, come and see for yourself.
There will be people of mature age mingling in the corridors outside supermarkets. They won’t be carrying much merchandise. Rather, they’ll be sharing musings of the world, broadcasting news bites from their communities, and spreading gossip about their neighbours.
There will be scooters and trolleys, all masquerading as wealthy shoppers, when in reality they’re emerging from hibernation for a critical dose of vitamin D and whatever healthy energy is transmitted from fluorescent lighting.
Because this is what they live for, and 9am through to about 2pm is the time they get to swarm coffee shops for a scone and a cup of tea.
It’s not because they don’t like people who work for a living, or children. It’s the pack mentality, an opportunity to be with one’s own species. Just as parents of school children will converge on carparks around the city at 3.30pm to share their own reverie with others caught in the daily humdrum of parenthood.
Don’t panic. This is not the creation of a great divide. The species will indeed integrate of evenings and weekends when time is a mutual consideration. In the meantime, they will enjoy common interests from a familiar era.
Wanda and I take this a step further. We have a special calendar that we don’t tell many people about.
It’s got public holidays on it like most calendars, and a few photos of seafood lunches for aspirational value.
Its most endearing feature however, are four blocks of red marker pen struck neatly through each stretch of school holidays.
These are the days when we’ll be vaped from our environment, when teens will take over the mall, and when scooters and skateboards will become transport options.
It’s when the scarce couches in public areas will be occupied by husbands of young families, minding bags of new clothing and occasional decor for the living room. They’ll have adoring children climbing one knee, tugging at one arm asking them to play escort to a trampoline which has somehow popped up right next to the information counter.
So Albo, I can agree that family time is important. As is mourning time.
Yet, as I go to cross another day from our special calendar, I notice that you’ve cleverly converged the two.
I thought you’d robbed me, but you haven’t. Your special holiday is smack bang in the middle of school holidays, for which I’m thankful.
I shall now continue my merry hibernation as planned, pulling weeds and trialling new coffee and ice cream flavours until the calendar tells me it’s again safe to venture beyond the boundaries of my abode.
Hey Wanda, do you remember where we put that garden spade?
