Shifting Sands

Mrs P and I have different working lives. She is very much the 9 to 5, Monday to Friday office worker. I do shifts, Mondays to Saturdays and sometimes Sundays too. God may have declared it a day of rest, but the powers that be decided to pay good overtime rates for those of us who are willing to ignore orders from above. I’m willing to do just that, one Sunday out of four. I don’t much like working Sundays but it puts a smile on my face come pay day.

My hours are as variable as my places of work, at different stations down the line. Early shifts can start anywhere between 5.20 to 6.25am. Late shifts can end anywhere between 6.25 and 9pm. I prefer late shifts and always have. I like to be able to wake up when I wake up and not because an electronic device beside my bed insists that I wake up. But both earlies and lates have pros and cons.

I like driving along deserted roads in the early morn. I’ll maybe see foxes and deer. There are badgers about too, but if I see one of those it’s likely dead, hit by a driver up even earlier than I. Ground hugging mist hovers over fields and rivers and glows as the first rays of the sun make landfall. It is a magical sight. I’ll hear bird song from the trees as I open up the ticket office. And I get to go home early. I’ll have a couple of hours to myself before I go to meet Mrs P in town when she arrives back after another long hard day at her office.