I hate it when people say that you’re supposed to hate your job.
Hate is a very strong word, though oddly enough, having used it twice in the opening line, it’s venom is somewhat diluted.
Regardless, I totally disagree with the notion that the workplace is supposed to play host to suffering.
Neither should one’s occupation be something about which they feel obliged to whoop and holler.
Those who publicly state ‘I really hate my job’ are on an equal footing as those who declare ‘I really love my job’ as far the desire to bash them on the head with a blunt instrument is concerned.
A happy medium is required. And I’m not referring to Russell Grant.
At times I like my job and at times I dislike it, that’s as far as my feelings for work go.
It would be folly of me to go into more detail, but it would also be naive of me to think my gripes about work are any different to anyone else’s.
On Thursday night my feelings about my work were decidedly mixed as I took part in an 18-mile training ride with Apollo Cycling Club with the aim of writing a first hand report for the ‘MAIL’. All being well the report will appear in next week’s paper, so I’ll not give away too much until then.
All I will say is cycling is a lot harder than those metronomic men and women on two wheels make it look.
While I was grateful to my job for the opportunity to whizz along the highways and byways of Lurgan and Craigavon on a sunny evening, I was also conscious the pain caused by a long-distance bike ride was likely to mean I wouldn’t be able to walk for the rest of the week.
As I sped along the open road, I felt an intense rush of adrenalin and a tangible sense of life in motion. All I was missing was hair for the wind to rush through.
At the same time, as each mile ticked by, my discomfort was getting worse with every tiny crater in the road sending a tremor of earthquake-proportions through my undercarriage.
And as for my spectacular dismounts - well, that’s a story for next week’s paper.
As I said earlier, there’s times I like my job and times I dislike it, and this was one of the few examples when I experienced both feelings at the same time.
I took on another sports-based assignment on Saturday afternoon when I participated in the Jubilee Cup darts tournament in Lurgan Institute (see page 21 of this week’s paper).
After my bruising experience with a racing bike on Thursday, it was nice to stand in the one place and chuck things.
Of late I’ve been afforded some excellent opportunities in my role as a feature writer. In the past six months I’ve driven a rally car, had a go on a Segway, got up close and personal with a colony of bees, learnt how to play Boccia and had my make-up done by a French lady.
I can’t complain too much about my job because without the kudos that the paper gives me I’d just be some bloke who gatecrashes random events and tries to get his picture in the paper.
The answer to last week’s teaser was: 9pm. There are 12 hours between 1pm and 1am, so six hours after 1pm is halfway (7pm). In order for 7pm to be two hours behind the current time, it must be 9pm.Here’s this week’s teaser: Why is 7 different to the rest of the numbers between 1 and 10?