Friday bloody Friday

I think this could be the onset of some kind of age thing, but I really hate fridays. They are a teaser of a day, because the moment you get to work, you are just desperate for it to be finishing time. Then when you finally finish, you rush to the pub, polish off pint number one, and realise you have no plans, no where to go except home, and no prospect of a great weekend. This normally pans out fine by Saturday, because the weekend proper has begun, and you slip into weekend mode, but friday is a cruel callous hinterland between the agony of work, and the total relaxation of not-work.

Sod it though, I'm bored. I'm off to the boozer. What's the worst that can happen?