Lately, Saturdays are coming to feel more and more like cover versions of Sundays. Dull, meaningless, suffocating. Heavy limbs, lazy thoughts; even essential activities require considerable effort.

And, like most cover versions, they're not even as good as the real thing. There’s more traffic on the streets. You’re forced to go shopping. People are seriously determined to have fun, whatever that means and whatever the cost. They hold on to the careless plans you uttered during the (less passive) week .Your desire to simply disappear behind a book is never respected.

So, the best you can do is drag yourself to the nearest armchair, where you kill time engaged in painfully slow and equally pointless conversations until they throw you out. This is why Greeks spend so much time in coffeeshops: the everyday-is-like-Sunday syndrome.

As for Sundays themselves, they have become almost pleasant, if only purely by comparison. But, in general- and no I’m not ashamed to say this as I’m sure it happens to you, too- the only thing that gets me out of my room during the weekends is the promise of …well, pleasure. Now I know why couples move in together.

Fridays, of course, are another issue entirely. As always, anticipation beats the actual experience of what you anticipated. Even when that is simply the possibility of silence, locked doors, switched off devices, a life-threatening quantity of reading material, and maybe an invisible waiter filling your mug every now and then.