Between swapping weekends last week and an unexpected day of training last week, I found that my work week contained a few more hours on the Rota than I had previously anticipated.
At one point I was double booked for places to be and people to see, and so had to send an email to one of the managers expecting to see me to say that while I was very good at delegation and time management, my ability to attend two geographically diverse locations simultaneously was sadly not as good as I might wish.
Fortunately I have a good working relationship with said manager, and so my snark was met with wry acceptance and alternative arrangements made. I may be, to paraphrase Lady P, “the king of salt”, but I do know how to pick my moments most of the time.
Now, before the chorus of readers points out that I work part time and so really can’t complain about a few extra hours, I shall bid you a lofty dismissal and say: hush, I don’t care, this is my blog and my working week, and the minor irritation of extra hours so I don’t decompress when I usually do is enough for me to comment and make up snarky ramblings.
The lovely reward for this concentration of working hours and swapping round of weekends has been an extended weekend and an extended visitation from the beauteous Mre B. So we’ve been a happy little triad enjoying each other’s company with food, TV shows, and long walks in the park.
I’ve branched out into vegetarian recipes for the weekend – I’ll write up the risotto-style dish later, and have worked out how to make cheesecake flavoured with Baileys. So we’ve eaten well, and drunk lots of hot chocolate. Can’t complain at all.