Iused to have a desk with a view. I could look out over the Brayford and see swans romancing each other in spring and ducks slipping on the ice in winter. Whenever a freak rain shower hit the city, I would be sitting there dry and smug, watching as shoppers battled with brollies and bags. When I wasnt head down and concentrating on whatever task was at hand, my workstation was the perfect spot for people watching. On one particularly memorable day, the whole office came to a standstill, briefly, as we peered at Jeremy Clarkson and James May push an electric car (which had run out of power) down the street. The office was my home, the people that worked there were my friends, confidants and cheerleaders. But I no longer have that view, that seat and that desk. No-one asks if I want a cuppa when Im busy working on tricky page layouts and nobody peeks over my shoulder to say, …love that headline. Im in a tea round for one, in an office for one, with one chair, one screen and my view is my neighbours houses. My maternity leave ended and so did my time as a sub editor at The Lincolnshire Echo. I now work for its sister title, the Nottingham Post and because of the commute, I have opted to work from home. When I tell people, especially other mums, I work from home, they usually respond with, How amazing, you are so lucky. It does sound appealing and it is a family-friendly option, especially with a one-year-old to consider, who is cared for by his grandma on the days I am in the office. It brings with it a certain domestic flexibility. A screen break used to mean going to the little canteen with a colleague and having a natter while brewing six cups of tea for a pod of thirsty workers. These days, I wander into my own kitchen, flick the kettle on and hang out a basket of laundry while I wait for it to boil. Then I wander back into the office (which is actually Mr Cs man-room – it houses his collection of DVDs, games, collectable figures, music and games consoles) and carry on designing magazines and newspaper pages. Lunch at Echo Towers would often involve spending £50 in Primark and grabbing a tuna melt and a latte from Greggs. These days, I make my own sarnies, use the coffee machine Mr C bought for me two years ago and sit on the decking in the garden, with Dexter the cat waiting expectantly for a piece of ham. I am saving a fortune in sandwich bills and might be on the way to kicking my shopaholic tendencies. Being home-based brings it own challenges. By far the biggest test for me is the lack of conversation. It is very quiet in Mr Cs den. I am a sociable person. I like talking to people, listening to their stories and especially their jokes. I do communicate but its mostly via e-mail and only occasionally by phone, so I can spend an entire day not opening my mouth to speak. Some (Mr C) would say this isnt such a bad thing, me not talking. Put me in any kind of social setting and I can be something of a pulled grenade, causing verbal shrapnel. Recently I popped to the corner shop and had to ask the assistant for help reaching a happy birthday banner down from the top shelf. When I spoke, it was the first time I had heard my own voice since dropping Lottie off at school and I sounded like I had just walked off the set of Mary Poppins when I said, I wonder… could I trouble you to reach me that banner down please? At a wedding at the weekend, having spent three days not exercising my vocal cords it was all I could do to hold a conversation. I knew what I wanted to say but sometimes found I struggled to hold onto the thread of what I was talking about. So instead, I listened. I listened to the grooms emotional speech, about how he wished his dearly departed mum could have been there with him and his beautiful bride. I listened to young, successful women talk about how they are working in solid but tedious jobs offering little or no satisfaction. And I was thankful to be working in a creative industry, doing a job I love and find fulfilling. I realised its almost irrelevant where I do it. With remote working becoming an ever-increasing trend, my old boss and I used to joke that one day he would head up a team of sub editors, tapping away at waterproofed laptops while bobbing about in a hot tub, drinking cold beers on a veranda in Costa del Somewhere. And while that dream may never come true, at least when I sit in my own snug, I will never have cause to moan about whether the air conditioning is too hot or too cold. Read more at lincolnshireecho.co.uk/Sam-Curtis-Working-home-great-forget-talk/story-22978750-detail/story.html#f9QhpwX4dPAsgt92.99
Posted on: Thu, 02 Oct 2014 11:19:41 +0000
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