13 August 2017
There is a large black cloud both inside and outside the box room today, because the summer holidays are over and it doesn’t feel good.
Last week was the first at work after returning from our holiday and was five days sitting at my desk dealing with all the poop that arrived while I was off. As is the case for lots of people I am sure.
Before doing what I do now I spent many years in manual jobs. I used to envy those going into the shiny office block with its smoked glass windows, knee high carpet and toilets that had paper all day.
I have now worked in places such as I describe 15 years in total. For some reason this week I have longed for the opportunity to do an honest day’s manual toil, to break sweat for a reason other than the air conditioning is broken, to swear as part of daily conversation, to throw things for no good reason and at the end of the shift go home and drink Brasso without a thought for the consequences.
These days we all know there will be unpleasant things waiting when we get back from holiday. Things that are – or often are not – our responsibility and have landed on our desk just because we were off.
When I worked on the roads the long trench I had half dug the week before would still be there waiting for me Monday morning. It may have gained an interesting selection of litter, a few puddles and a couple of dog turds but it was essentially unchanged. All I had to do was climb in and continue digging.
No-one had come along and deleted it without thinking then sent me a snotty email saying they wanted it restored immediately if not sooner, or said that although they had requested the trench for this month they were now too busy and wanted it next month instead, or said they wanted to know why I had not dug their trench, even though I had, but as they were too lazy to actually have a look to see if it was there were unaware it even existed. The first week back is never the best.
Earlier this week one of students told me with confidence that my generation had had it easy, as there was no Donald and Kim Jung, no ISIS and no Ebola. I took great pleasure in remind him that in the 70’s and 80’s things were actually a lot worse, because:
1. We lived with the threat of the four-minute warning. We could get it at any time. If it went off it meant Russia had launched their missiles and we had four minutes until evaporation, which for me was guaranteed. Throughout the 70’s (and early 1080;s) I lived in a village called Greatworth which had its own RAF base. It was essentially a huge listening post. This was it:
Which meant in the event of someone pressing the button my demise was pretty much secure. We did have the Government help guide which I am sure would have been invaluable:
2. While we didn’t have ISIS, we did have the IRA. In England anyway. They toiled industriously blowing people up. In London the security forces removed all the litter bins and made the post boxes out of transparent perspex so bombs could not be hidden inside. Northern Ireland was not a safe place for anyone.
3. While we didn’t have Ibola, we did have the newfangled AIDS. The government produced a leaflet that said AIDS – don’t die of ignorance, which spawned a T shirt that said ADIS – Don’t die of dyslexia. Wouldn’t get away with that now.
So things really are better, I told him. It just doesn’t always feel that way.
Moving on to more cheerful things it is Alice’s Birthday in two weeks. I am very pleased to say all she wants is a phone upgrade which is going to cost me £0.00 ($0.00). Which is absolutely Excellent!
She will turn 14 which is the minimum legal age to get a job. I am not sure where I should secure her first position. All the coal mines and steel works have shut down. They used to have lots of jobs for young people. All the spinning mills have gone too. There are hardly any chimneys that need cleaning these days either. Perhaps something in the nuclear power industry handling spent fuel rods. Or perhaps spent fuel re-processing. I bet the pay is fabulous!
My father came home from the hospital, then almost went straight back in again yesterday. I think he is out again now. I really must phone and find out. Personally I think he is playing some sort of medical hokey-cokey.
Something to look forward to is that nineteen weeks today it will be Christmas Eve. That means only 19 shopping weekends and 4 more pay days to go. Selfridges on Oxford Street have already opened their Christmas department, so Merry Christmas shopping one and all!
Murrays Musings 