The 8 Types Of Bank Holiday People You Definitely Know

“Oh, you know, the usual.”

Every year it comes about and you’re not ready. Every. Single. Year. You’ve had it in your diary for a while and every time you have shit small talk with Terry from HR he reminds you that you’ve got *another* bank holiday coming up in May until you stare blankly at each other for slightly too long. Another! Wild.

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And yet, you haven’t organised anything, and so you will inevitably, like every British person, drag yourself to your understocked Tesco Metro with the intention of making some Pimms and a picnic, and end up leaving with a discounted loaf of bread, some plums (?) for the Pimms and no lemonade. Fantastic.

The One With Their Shit Together

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You’ve had to listen to them talk about their marinated salmon for FOUR WEEKS NOW. You’ve had relationships as long as that than that. “We built the smoker last weekend so it should now be all ready for the big bank holly!” she exclaims, unaware that you are literally constructing ways you could potentially sabotage this salmon from afar. Email her articles about the damage salmon fishing does to the environment? Send a fake council letter to their house saying smokers are against the law anywhere outside of Texas? Murder every single guest?

The Holidayer

They’re the person who’s been linking you SkyScanner pages for two months now. “EasyJet are having a sale... You could be in Tallin for two night for only £17 return!” No one gives a fuck about Tallin, Mark. Stop clogging up my email with your terrible shoestring trip ideas. We’re not even mates.

Bender Lad

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Despite having an extra day to recover, this person will still emerge on the Tuesday, late, with what looks like Thursday’s outfit, even though that makes no logical sense. He is also extremely too open about his out-of-work drug habits despite the fact it’s very clear he’s one blow reference from a stern HR meeting. “Well there’s DJ Sotofett on Friday and then I guess like some mates are coming down on Sat so we’ll go out with them and then i’m going to this kind of all day thing on Monday but i’ll probs take it easy then and just stick to weed. Love the garys tho.”

The Fucking Drylord

“Oh I’ve got a lot of admin to catch up on actually.”

The Smug Couple

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You know these people because you hate them with all your soul and being. “So we’re going to John’s mum’s house in Norfork on the Sunday evening - they’ve just got a pool - and then we’re travelling to our friend’s house closer to the beach in the morning where we might play some tennis, aren’t we babe?” You look at them both. Wouldn’t that be nice. To be in love. To go to your mum’s house in Norfork with the person you love. You could probably share an unprecedentedly intimate moment.  Imagine.

The Person Who, Literally, No Matter How Many Times You Tell Them, Cannot Get It Into Their Brain That We Have A Bank Holiday And Will Probably Turn Up To Work On Monday

“No no no i’m writing it down this time… look, look, it’s going in the phone.”

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The Personification of Trainwreck

This person will either try and plan the most generic bank holiday weekend and forget that also every single human being in Britain is on holiday and will be trying to do the same thing, or leave everything so last minute that they end of trying to eat lunch at 5pm before just giving up and finishing the leftover hummus in the fridge. Stop trying to organise a BBQ with 18 people when you don’t even have a goddamn garden.

The Murderer

“Oh, what are you up to this bank holiday Greg?” you ask, immediately ready to check out and remove yourself from the situation as soon as physically possible. Greg’s a good guy. You don’t know why people don’t talk to him more often. He’s just a little quiet, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that. “Oh you know, get away from it all and work alone at home where no one can bother me,” he says, then mumbles something and looks at you. Did he just say… was that basement? What about a basement?

Just walk away now and pretend you didn’t hear. Just pick up your glass of water, smile, and walk away.

By Ruby Lott-Lavigna