Between contracts

By the time you read this, I shall be shooting the ‘in-between-contracts’ breeze. Yep, I’ll be unemployed – however ‘between contracts’ is more positive. You might be reading this on the bus squished up against some whooping cough attack, while I’m writing next weeks column on my little table sipping cups of ginger tea in my PJs.

While I cannot wait, my parents are a little quiet about the matter, and not because they don’t like ginger tea. One must be continually employed in their book. Years ago when Dad was looking for a new job, he went and cut firewood. He did blokey things. His backyard shed would put Bunnings to shame.

I don’t think my parents believe there are enough felled trees in Sydney for me to find to chop into wood for fireplaces, or is that they can’t imagine me with a chainsaw? My half dead Lancer would never cope with a tree trunk in the back seats anyway.

First stop is school holidays with the mini men. Waking up on 1 of July deciding which coffee shop we should visit first instead of ironing a shirt, will be decadent.

I don’t think I have stopped continually working since 2007, interjected with my European summer three years ago.

I have devoted considerable time to thinking about the magic of no work for a little while – I’m sure in three months time I’ll be panicking and thinking about the magic of mortgage repayments and finding a job. In the meantime I’m happy escaping the rat race.

I’m 38, perhaps it’s my second mid life crisis? Maybe I should get a new career, open my own business or become a tradie…I like the uniform, outdoors, boots… wait a minute – that could work.

Reality will come too fast I know, bills, school fees, bank loan deductions and pocket money for cups of joe.

Enjoy the bus, I may join you again, or I may not. I need a toolbelt…

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