morning there was difficulty determining the day of the week. I
thought it was Tuesday. The wife, for a moment, thought it was
Friday or possibly Thursday. I had mislaid the eyeglasses so I could
not read the atomic clock. She, adroit as ever, searched a computer
In the dawning time of manufacture,
there was a day called Saint Monday. The factory was looming ominous-ness,
still an idea in the mind of salivating Kapital. Workshops better
describe the scale of enterprise in the early days of the modern
world. Scattered like seeds across green hills, belching nervous
moments as useful things were made.
Back then, Pay was irregular. A
master, managed his workshop through force of personality. When Pay
did happen, the less disciplined would take off to the bars and wooing and
sometimes not be back until Wednesday or Thursday.
For a while there was Saint Tuesday and
for the especially contented crew there was Saint Wednesday. But
increasingly, because of competition and the demands of bankers these
special circumstance days were eroded.
Saint Monday, however, remained for a
long time. Then when it was gone the Industrial Revolution was made.
Today is apparently Thursday.