Three-Day Week



I’d like to mention a blog I found yesterday after a note in the Guardian’s listings magazine The Guide. Paleo-future (“a look into the future that never was”) is everything Sci-fi that I yearned to read as a lad: Wonderful artwork of 21st Century toon-land by hopeful visionaries of the 50s and 70s. If you loved the Jetsons or Lost in Space after school, then this is a blog for you and I look forward to more of “Olympics on the moon in 2020.”

But it’s April Fools Day and I reckon I’m the only space cadet to forget. A few years ago, I used to spread wild, foolish rumours about catastrophe and mayhem to my children who’d either snort in contempt or fall for the worst jokes I could dream up on the spur of the moment. Once we drove past a nearby block of flats and I casually remarked that there was smoke pouring out of the window and someone had better call the Fire Brigade. My daughter, then about 7, refused to believe me and consequently missed the spectacle of fire fighters mounting their Simon Snorkel .. She has never forgiven me but to this day, April the 1st is the tragic anniversary of someone’s roast chicken biting the dust.

I see that the French used to call this day Poisson d’Avril when dead fish were placed on the backs of friends, reinforcing the notion of the easily-caught fool. Once, I was dispatched by the Observer’s Picture Editor to Stow-on-the-Wold for a spoof story about Crayfish being hunted to extinction in the fresh water River Evenlode. David Smeeton the correspondent and I recruited a pack of Lurchers to splash about in the shallows with a local dressed in hunting garb and equipped with a French Horn to stand blowing for all he was worth on the bank, as if calling the said arthropods to the surface where hairy and hungry jaws awaited. The paper received many letters of complaint: ‘Cruelty to crustaceans!’, I believe was their general tone.

As I mentioned, I completely missed the opportunities to repeat my worst pranks this year and even my children failed to seize the day. Instead, I have been coming to grips with the conundrums of iView Media Pro and the picture above describes my shattered personality while attempting to catalogue my archive. Icebergs, tips and very cold water come to mind. Now that’s the future.

Come to think of it, George Jetson only worked three hours a day, three days a week and I missed a beautiful Sunday while in The Cage – so maybe I was the fool with a (Cray) fish on his back.


2 Responses to “Three-Day Week”

  1. I have a friend in France, who swears, that the French are all following the Jetsons… they also only work three days a week…

  2. George jetson for President.

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