I confess that I was working on my stag
Friday August 14 2009
Bashing out a newspaper article while zooming down the Portlaoise bypass may not strike everyone as the ideal start to a relaxing weekend away. Yet this was what I found myself doing en route to my stag getaway several years ago.
A last minute assignment, coupled with some frankly terrible time-keeping on my part, had left me with no choice but to throw together an article while my wife-to-be-and I drove from our home outside Dublin to Cork airport (to be accurate, she was looking after the driving, while I assaulted my laptop and had a mini-meltdown ).
If that strikes you as a nightmare, clearly you've never been self-employed. For those of us without the luxury of paid time off or a guaranteed income, a workaholic schedule becomes a way of life. You find yourself routinely putting in seven day weeks -- and even taking your work with you on holidays.
Indeed, the very concept of a holiday becomes nebulous if you're a workaholic. You end up doing your usual grind ,but in more pleasant surroundings.
Down the years, I've laboured over pieces at a greasy McDonalds in New York, on a bench in Spain (thank god for iPhones) and, on one occasion, struggling to stay awake from jet lag at a youth hostel in Japan, with a football team worth of unimpressed Australians queuing to use the establishment's only terminal.
A few years back, an editor actually rang up wondering if I could throw together a piece in 20 minutes. I was sitting in Central Park at the time but -- always shackled to work -- dutifully dashed off in a random direction in search of an internet cafe.
Technology is gradually making things easier. When booking hotels, for instance, broadband is essential. That way, I can rise at 7am, slog through two or three hours of work and still be in time for breakfast.
You might think this a terrible imposition on one's leisure time. Take it from me, it's a rollick in the muck compared to the alternative: trudging all the way to a cyber-cafe and toiling for half the morning without being able to pop to the loo.
Hell is having to get through a 1,200 word article by noon with no possibility of visiting the little boys' room.
- Ed Power
