The Fear


It started yesterday morning.

The dull, thumping dread.

The loathsome realisation that my summer holiday was at an end, and that tomorrow I would be returning to the burning coalface of paid employment.

It’s not that I was afraid of some steaming great backlash from those unfortunate colleagues, chosen to look after my work in my absence. I wrote decent cover notes and will return the favour, sooner rather than later.

It’s not that I was worried about facing a mountain of work on my return. I have zero hesitation in using the delete button – if it’s urgent they will ask again. If not then there’s no point in having unread messages cluttering my inbox. By 9.30 my Inbox had gone from 350 unread emails to zero unread emails.

It’s not that my work is physically exhausting – sitting at a desk for 8 hours is hardly comparable with working down the pits.

It’s not that I was not feeling well rested and refreshed after my various little excursions around Dublin, Galway and London. I am feeling very relaxed after my break.

It’s more to do with the fact that I was getting used to a life of leisure. Getting nine hours sleep a night. Having┬áplenty of time to visit various places of interest around the city. It felt right that I was living my life as an idle dandy. A devil may care Limerick playboy, in stylish shorts and cheap sunglasses.

Oh well. No point in complaining – I have a further seven holidaysto take between now and Christmas.

I need to put my plotting cap on my head and get to hatching a cunning scheme for my next break.

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