Both me and my wife work in the finance sector; well, I say work but I’m not quite sure what it is I actually do?!
I’m contracted to 40 hours per week, but I often do 70. I’d say I live to work; my job’s my life. When I’m not at work, I struggle to think or talk about much else other than work. Infact, I’d go as far as to say it’s the only thing I know or feel comfortable doing. Cleaning a house is an alien concept to me; I wouldn’t know where to start. The last thing I want to do after a long week at work is try and figure out how to use a vacuum cleaner!
Thankfully, my job pays well. So well infact, that things like cleaning/cutting the lawn/shopping/looking after the kids/life I don’t have to bother doing; I can pay someone to do them for me.
Our cleaner costs £12 per hour through an agency. Not alot I know, and I dread to think what her wage is. I’ve often thought about tipping her, but I think she’d just spend it on heroin, so I make sure she’s got a warm cup of soup inside her before she goes home.
This whole post is a joke right, some sort of John Cooper Clarkesque poem to a dire middle class existence?