Barring the odd week in the lakes and a three month stint of interim bursing*, I have spent much of the last 18 months
on the sofa with the cat with my head in a text book studying hard for my Open University degree. It has been fabulous, but hasn’t paid the bills, so with some stern and repeated gentle prompting from a cattle prod wielding very lovely friend, I banished the cat from my lap tore myself away from my text books and set about finding myself a job.
On the last Friday in November I succeeded and with a provisional start date early in the new year, I spent the weekend planning some fabulous adventures for my final month of sloth. What adventures they were going to be! Far flung parkruns, beautiful trails, catch ups with old friends. The world was my oyster…
…until I woke up on Monday morning to a message asking if there was any chance I could interim burse* for two weeks to cover some staff sickness, and then agreed to start my new job in mid December rather than early January.
From lady of leisure to full-time employment in the space of a day.
The cat still isn’t speaking to me.
* Not a word. Should be.