“Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore so do our minutes hasten to their end” – Sonnet no.60.
Like Shakespeare’s contemplation of mortality I too have been thinking about the time I might have left. It’s my birthday today. If the glass is half full ( or half empty) ill be 92 when I die. Working ’till 66 leaves me with 20 years. By 260 working days per annum= only 5200 days, @say 9 hours a day= 46,800 working hours left.
My Father, 78 and still cattle dealing, golfing and horse racing away, says “it’s better to wear away than rust away” and I couldn’t agree more. I don’t think I could ever contemplate retiring fully ( bad news for my competitors right there) i’ll just take more frequent naps and keep going until I can’t keep going. They say find something you love doing and it’ll never be work. you might not get too rich though.
As I write this I’m up on my pitch in the garden listening to the birds singing and the insects humming in the sunshine and all’s well with the world. Swallows seem to be gone early this year. No doubt in 5 minutes when I go back into the office there’ll be a kick in the bollox or two to contend with.
That’s the thing about being self employed, the buck stops with you. We are the ones putting our heads above the parapet, selling our services, making things happen. Even if you are doing everything right and by the book – a tall order in this health and safety gone mad bureaucratic world- you still get kicks in the bollox. Comes with the territory. We’ve all learned to cope in our own ways. I used to find beer a tremendous help. Today marks the 6th anniversary of giving up*
Back to the topic of time though. One of the challenges these days is managing customers time expectations. Back in the day we were like plumbers, people were damn glad to get our services and expected to have to wait. Now they feel personally miffed when, upon awarding you the job, spending their admittedly hard earned cash, they are informed of a bit of a lead time.” Eh, you can’t start tomorrow so….wtf?”
Isn’t this Indian summer great though? The winter will be shortened. The grass, for those who have not yet got with the programme ( i.e. going synthetic) is growing only slowly, back to school bills and holiday credit card bills are off the table and gardens are still on people’s minds. The patio doors are still being left open.
Yikes. “how did it get so late so soon?”- Dr Seuss, if you must know.
Back to the grind stone for me. Now don’t be thinking you need to send me a present. Just give us a bit of business whenever it crops up some time.
* I’m still allowed hot whiskers when snivelly and champagne.
It’s just downright rude to refuse champagne.