Letters to the Editor

Four Day Week and Satisfaction

Sir/Madam,

I am writing to express my bewilderment, nay, my downright perplexity, at the ongoing trial of a four-day working week by 200 companies in the UK, which has me humming “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” on repeat. And no, it’s not just because Mick Jagger’s lyrical plight speaks to my soul — though it does — but because I can’t decide whether to celebrate or mourn this bold leap into the workweek abyss.

On the one hand, a shorter working week sounds marvellous. Who wouldn’t want an extra day to loaf about, attempt baking sourdough, or finally reorganise the kitchen drawer that inexplicably contains scissors, batteries, and a single chopstick? But on the other hand, doesn’t this mean we’ll have less time at work to truly not get any satisfaction? After all, isn’t it the long, drawn-out Fridays that really fuel our existential crises?

I mentioned this concern to my neighbour, who works in HR and has enthusiastically embraced the idea of the four-day week. She insists it boosts productivity and well-being. But I pointed out that if I’m already humming Rolling Stones lyrics after five days, by Thursday I might be staging a full re-enactment, complete with air guitar and anguished cries of "I can't get no!" in the staff kitchenette. Is anyone considering that potential risk?

Moreover, I wonder what Mick Jagger himself would think. Was he stuck in a five-day grind when he wrote those iconic lines, or was he just trying to navigate the mysteries of a poorly tuned radio? Perhaps the key to true satisfaction lies not in the length of the week but in figuring out why there’s always one colleague who leaves the printer jammed with mysterious hieroglyphic error codes.

In conclusion, while I cautiously support this experiment, I fear the unintended consequences. Fewer working days may leave us with less time to mutter about broken office chairs and stolen staplers — things that truly unite us as a nation.

Yours in a state of rhythmic confusion,
Ethelina Wobblethwaite
(Currently negotiating satisfaction levels with the photocopier, to no avail)