I have no manager who I can call on a Monday morning and tell in great detail, and a particularly feeble voice, why I cannot possibly make it in today. Even if I was genuinely ill, and not putting it on because I had too many pints at the AC/DC gig the night before, I would still have to get up and get on with my day’s work.
I do not have any annual leave entitlements. There are no holiday request forms for me to fill in (although now I think of it, maybe I’ll create some and start leaving them around the house for someone to authorise). I can forget about team ‘Away Days’ to fancy hotels and I assume I won’t be having a Christmas party. Boooooo. It’s soooo unfair.
I will admit that some days, as with any job, I just cannot be bothered to turn up. There, I’ve said it. But I have no choice. So, I begrudgingly go about my day, slam dinner plates down on the table, shout a lot, try to convince the boys to play sleeping games (this NEVER works) and just hang on desperately for CBeebies o’clock to come around. Iggle Piggle may be the worst creation in the history of children’s TV, but he’s my signal to log out. And at the end of my ‘non-sickie’ day, he’s the best thing in the world!