Like all of us out there fortunate enough to have jobs in this land ruled by criminal lunatics, my life is not my own. It’s been even less my own this past eight days, which is why the usual flood of new stuff posted has slowed to less than a trickle.
I spent the whole of last week being retrained to do even more things for the same amount of money, which was pretty much ok, despite the early starts, except that ordinarily I get Thursday off in that half of my fortnightly shifts. You’d think that it would just be a simple matter of giving me a day back for the one I had to come it, but no. I work differing hours each days, so what my employers did was to tot up how long I’d have been in if I’d been doing my normal shifts, set it against the time I spent in training, and work out that they owed me two and a half hours.
Which I took first thing Saturday, so that I could at least get a lie-in.
Either way, I’ve been working eight successive days, which is no fun for the young and fit, let alone the old and increasingly decrepit (I am still getting gyp from my right knee since we had a Team Night Out 10 pin Bowling three and a half weeks ago). So there’s been little time for writing during this period, and, more crucially, very little time for thinking about what I’m going to be writing.
The next few days are going to be easier, and I hope to be able to get to some overdue things this week – the next piece on the Prisoner needs some serious work to prepare it, and I’ve a few more ideas I want to work on that I can’t get to until I’ve worked through some of the running series I’m doing now.
So, apologies for the recent semi-drought and I’m hoping to be back to normal now.