The following poem is written by Chris Bartington and it brilliantly sums up the sentiments I’ve heard from friends (and myself) about work.
You go through the doors and come out of the cold
Into the place where your soul was sold.
Begin the day with a coffee and a chat
Gone 9 talking’s banned, so that’s the last of that.
Work begins, more protocols to adhere
But how about doing work, Management say that’s just so last year.
Then the assult begins, attacks from above and below
Sometimes you just wish for that killer blow.
Lunch hour arrives, but deadlines to meet, work to do
Maybe I’m lucky, I’ll find find time for the loo.
Then a moment, inspiration, you share an idea
Crushed in a second, the last for a year.
The seconds tick, minutes then an hour
Keep telling yourself, “you get paid”, don’t be sour.
Back into the cold, the car park, then the car
Begin the journey home, wish it wasn’t so far.
Then home appears, time for love, warmth and enjoyment.
But think, you’re lucky, you’re in gainful employment.