Dickensian squalor

Our entire house is full of people wracked with cold. Philippa is almost bed-ridden, Mathew is more snot than baby, and I’m only upright thanks to high-dose cold-and-flu meds and caffeine.

I’d love to take a couple of days off and look after them, but the joyous reality of working for the company I work for is that they’re not very understanding when it comes to family matters. Calling in sick to care for relatives is almost a sin. As a manager, I’m expected to drag myself in through the door even if I’m on the brink of death, which I have to say I don’t feel too far away from right now. I have a suspicion that, were I to be diagnosed with terminal cancer, they would still want me there at my desk, and would even allow a rearrangement of the office so that chemotherapy could be administered while I’m juggling the January rotas. The days of employers that place the wellbeing of their workforce above all other matters are sadly long gone, if they even existed in the first place.

If – and it’s a HUGE if – I ever end up running my own business, I swear to you now I will be a caring, understanding boss who lets you work hours that suit you and who never puts profit before people.

RC 27-11-19