That Monday Morning Feeling

It's been a while since I've had to wake up to work on a Monday morning. The feeling that, despite it being completely untrue, you have a long and full week before the highs of the weekend. The truth of the matter is, I only have 2 night shifts to complete before a few days of well deserved rest that will most probably involve Jack Daniels, Jaegermeister and related drinks. I do think however, I have very much drawn the short straw when it came to creating the rota for this week. To wake up at 5.30am on one day, and to work a night shift the day after, is much more difficult than it sounds. It's tougher than sprinting 400 metres. It's more complicated than competing in the pole vault. It's as impossible as beating Usain Bolt. Note, not a deliberate Olympics reference.

After the ridiculousness of the beginning of the weekend, I awoke from my 14 hour slumber at 5am on Sunday morning, positively refreshed and ready for what was probably going to be a long and mundane morning at the "berp". My mood had been improved however by a text the night before asking if I could play cricket, even if I would turn up an hour late. They were desperate apparently, which makes me sound like a last resort, like the last to be picked on the school playground. Walking to work at 5:15 on a Sunday morning sounds wrong aswell. It was eerie, strange and poetically silent, almost as if it shouldn't be happening. Like it was against your human rights to be working, at least this early, on a Sunday. It was a peaceful and serene walk, until I was forced to cross the road as I approached a group of late, late finishers, still drunk out of their minds and talking in a volume more associated with a football stadium. I felt like an old man, avoiding "hoodies".

That 7 hours went by at a rate of speed more commonly found in your average Corsa or Almera. Not fast, but not too slow either, and yes, it was 7 hours. The manager of the day, new man Mark, said I could leave at 1pm if everything had been done, and by 12, we were searching for things to do, so without even talking to him, I left at 1pm, and climbed into Father Mitten's new, new car and we made our way to the cricket. I would be on time, and play a full part! I say, "on time", I was a meer few minutes late, and missed out on opening the batting, but in terms of getting off to a good start, this was probably a good thing, as stand-in opener, Rajan, hit a quickfire 50. I came into bat at number 5, and largely struggled against the pair of spinners on a pitch that was ripping a mile. I hit a nice slog sweep but nicked behind for 9 next ball. I almost expect it these days!

We got 251, and they began their innings at about 6pm. We were done by 6.50, as they were bowled out for a lowly 56. A comprehensive victory then, and I was home in time to go to the pub to have dinner with my payday monies!

I was knackered though. I survived the meal and a couple of rounds of the quiz before calling it a night. I was almost falling asleep, and figured I would need all the rest I could get, preparing for what was surely going to be a viciously long shift the following morning. It turns out I was completely right, and when I was finally cycling home at 2pm, via a fight between a woman and a group of children playing 'Knock Knock Ginger', I was pleased to put my feet up and chill out. It's been a hectic weekend!

Ooooh, this is my 400th post! Good effort from me, if I say so myself!