17 May 2011 (Tuesday) - The Day After
I did the night shift last night – the first for over two years. It was busy, but I must admit I quite liked doing it. I’m not sure I liked it enough to want to do nights regularly though. I won’t go into details of how it went here, I’ve done that elsewhere.
But there was one incident of note. Have you ever worked a night shift? Whereas there is usually something particularly beautiful about dawn and watching the sun rise, there is (to my mind) something decidedly obnoxious about the sunrise when I’m on a night shift. When I’m fishing or camping I love the sunrise. When I’m working I absolutely hate and detest it. I wish I knew why.
After twelve and a half hours of non-stop frenetic activity I came home for a bit of a kip. I lay in bed for half an hour listening to the builders two doors up the road installing double glazing. I didn’t mind the bashing and hammering – it was their radio which was keeping me awake. So I went and asked them to turn it down. They did, and I slept till the early afternoon. But there is something decidedly wrong about sleeping after a night shift. When one wakes after sleep, usually one feels refreshed. Having slept after a night shift I always wake to feel physically ill. I felt nauseous, and I had tremors. The feeling passed after having been up for an hour or so, but whilst it lasts, it is that feeling more than anything which makes me not want to do night work on a permanent basis.
In other news it was the football cup final last weekend. I mention this because I had no idea I’d missed it. Personally it is a matter of the utmost indifference to me, but I feel I should be more interested in the sport because so many people do take football so seriously.
A very good friend posted about football on Facebook recently: “I am so angry it hurts right now! I am going for a walk, if you come across me please do not approach me. In 40 years as a fan, I have never been this low”. Clearly the chap feels incredibly passionately about football. And he’s not alone in doing so – far from it.
My brother and I once had a falling out because I didn’t realise that football was something sacred and something which could not be trivialised. Someone who I’ve known for years and with whom I’ve shared many a drunken booze up once (in all seriousness and in all sobriety) seriously threatened me with physical violence because of a throwaway comment I’d made about his favourite football team.
On considered reflection I really cannot see the attraction of football. Having watched five minutes of the game (be it the World Cup Final, or half a dozen kids kicking a ball in the street), I honesty feel I have seen all that the game has to offer.
I wish I could see what everyone else sees in it. I’m sure I must be missing something.