Working Sunday

I am at a train station cafe waiting for my train to arrive.  Such is the joy of timed tickets.  You buy a ticket for a particular train to, quite possibly, find the lowest fare that is available.

I feel slightly sorry for myself because I am, in fact, working this weekend.  Whilst  the rest of the country is enjoying a wonderfully sunny Sunday, I am here, at a train station, waiting for a train to take me to the venue of the conference that I’m going to be managing tomorrow.  Lovely.

I’m also resigned to the fact that I won’t be sleeping much during the next few days.  I don’t sleep well in a bed that isn’t familiar.  It takes me about three days (MINIMUM!!!) to get used to an unfamiliar bed.  I don’t necessarily have that much time to get used to the bed I’ll be sleeping in.  After the conference, I’ll be flying off to the home of the deep-fried Mars bar to attend a meeting.  Yet another night in an unfamiliar bed (at least I’ll have TV!).

And yet, despite my whinging, I do enjoy my job.  I enjoy the challenge.  I know I am more fortunate than most people because I do have a job and I do love the job that I have.  I constantly tell myself off for complaining.  Because I shouldn’t.  Not really.  I am fortunate that I have a job that I enjoy.

But sometimes, it would be nice not to have to travel on a lovely, sunny weekend.

My train’s nearly here.  I should probably be gathering my things together.

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