Months of the year have names. This is a Good Thing. In some countries (especially in Eastern Europe) the months have sensible names referring to the weather and changes in nature.
I would like to see weeks of the year having their own names. This is a Personal Dream. The week of the first daffodil say, or the week oak leaves start falling. Global warming will prevent this dream coming true, I imagine. Or perhaps the education system. We may never welcome the unison chanting of year 1 and 2 pupils through 52 fauna and flora of the British year.
If I had my wish, I would name the week just gone ‘Creme Egg’ week. It is officially open season again and I have managed to fulfil a separate long-term dream to save a previous year’s creme egg until now, in order to find out whether they really do get smaller every year.
In order to do this I may have to secretly weigh an old and a new egg when I get the baby weighed next time. Or maybe design a measuring device to put each egg through, like the spaghetti holes we used to have on kitchen spoons. Or just eat both and see which I preferred.
jam and giraffes 