folio

The foreman walks in on me, unannounced. “Are you working?” he asks, eyes wide open. “Why are you working?” Then: “You know you won’t get paid extra for working extra?” And finally: “So why bother?”

For context, it’s 7pm on a Saturday evening, at the start of a bank holiday weekend, and I’ve been at it all day. I know this is a puzzlement for the lad. I mutter something about passing the time, while guests are busy downstairs. But really this is deliberate.

To me, it’s about working unimpeded without the constant interruptions that characterise a normal day. No pinging from Teams whenever I’m trying to focus. No allegedly urgent emails thumping into my inbox to demand a great diversion. It’s about getting back on top of things.

The foreman is a “do the bare minimum” kind of guy, unless it’s playing computer games, in which case he would play all day long if he could. I’m of the opposite persuasion, striving for perfection, if possible. Though rarely is that possible.

So here I am doing extra for no real personal reward, just as the boy observes. But I hope my efforts will be of benefit to somebody, somehow. I’m not really the kind to say, “Stuff it, I can’t be bothered.” If a job needs doing, let’s do it properly.