I'm exhausted. I'm now working six days a week and hours that would induce apoplexy in an EU Commissioner. Apart from a couple of days at Christmas and Easter, I've been working without break since late last year. I even woke this morning half-wondering whether I should go into the office today. I won't. And I'm going to carve some time out and spend it on the boat. Last week I turned up for drinkies with fellow bloggers a day early, which was worrying; losing track of the days is not a good sign. On site at 7am yesterday morning, watching the clubbers making their way home whilst we had a full crew in on overtime, made me wonder if this isn't a recession of two halves.
Last week a guy I worked with on a job in the late 90s called me; he was going through the dregs of his contact book in an increasingly desperate search for work. He hasn't had a tickle in six months. All those I know seem either to be overworked to the point of collapse, or in a work famine.
Funny old world.