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.