Oh how I wish I had retired permanently.
How come work gets in the way of real life so much? It seems I never have any time to do the things I want or need to be doing. The amount of stuff I can’t do these days just seems to increase with every month.
We’ve been going through some major reworkings of Ã‚Â Weeks Towers this year & while we are in a position to pay little men to do the work, whereas years ago I’d have done it all myself, there is still so much I need to do to prepare for the arrival of the little men.
We’re having a major refit upstairs which will mean that the loft needs to be cleared above one of the rooms so the electrician can get in & work his magic. The thing is there is more stuff in my loft than there is in my house. It’s not just a case of moving a few boxes around.
Mrs Weeks does not understand this when she arranges for these things to take place, she doesn’t take into consideration what shifts I might be on & when I’ll be available to sort the loft out. I can’t get time off because you can hardly get time off for anything except if you die & then they’d expect you to ring in the following day to let them know whether you were still dead.
Apparently I’ve got 2 weeks to sort the loft out which means probably a maximum of 6 full days, 2 of which I’ll be sleeping because of a night shift, & 3 of which I’ve already made plans for months ago.
Then later in August she’s arranged for a man to come & build a new shed. Which is fine except he won’t be emptying the old shed, so I’ll have to do that too & I so wanted to go on holiday in August but now have to knock a few days off one end of it so I can sort the bloody shed out.
I think she’s got a list somewhere which will cover me until I’m about 73. I daren’t look at it.