Home Work #2

Home Working #2

What Lies Beneath

I read someone describe on social media how their home working work colleague dressed in work clothing from the waist up for a Zoom meeting. The ‘bottom half’ unwork-clad. Really?… my immediate reaction. Why would you do that. That’s not what working from home is all about.

The thought of putting on an ironed shirt, tie and jacket to sit at your desk with your ‘bottom half’ an unworkable state, in your Y-Fronts, boxers, budgie smugglers, briefs or whatever, as the tie drops and tickles your tackle…well it beggars belief. All you are keeping up is appearances. 

As an experienced home worker for many’s a year, one of the benefits is being safe in the knowledge that what I wear for work and meetings  in the safety of my own home is my business, and no one else’s. People work with me because I can help them, irrespective if I look like a badger’s arse dragged through a hedge backwards. 

I have heard all the rationally argued points that psychologically you need to switch into work mode in your home workspace and therefore changing into your ‘work clothes’ is a good habit. The increasing tyranny of the teleconference makes things trickier. It’s a nonsense. 

Do the people espousing this way of life wear a chef’s attire when fixing their lunch; overalls when leaving out the bin or a maid’s outfit when cleaning the home? Of course they don’t. 

Work attire and business suits, like desks are an office construct, a feature of the formal workplace. It all started with Skype meetings, and now the proliferation of videoconf apps threatens the liberty of long distance workers to wear what they please for the sakes of appearance. 

I have conducted significant and high powered meetings from a range of locations in various states of dishevelment and undress,shaven and hirsute. The sofa of course being one. Often having been woken up thereon by a scheduled call. The throne room another challenging venue, and in passing, a word to the wise, the mute button comes in useful when flushing. 

What the new found home work gurus don’t explain are the practicalities of dressing. For example, in the cold of winter rather than heat the entire house it’s more sense to wear warm outdoor clothing including thermals and gloves. In the summer if it gets warm t-shirt, shorts and your flip flops or sliders. Just in case you’ve to shoot down to the beach. I enjoy contacting clients when I’m at the beach in summer indeed year round. There they are with the suit on in the office fugue, tied up in meetings. 

In these uncertain times, home working means upon us all a little rain must fall. Twenty four hours slips into days. We must endure the wearing and tearing.

Home Work #1

With all the people coming to grips with the novelty of working from home I thought it would be useful to share my experiences of working chez moi for eleven years+. First of all it is mildly enlightening observing the workforce sharing images of the home workstation they have created. Very good. In truth, the desk computer cliche is an office construct. My advice? Have multiple places and locations to do your stuff. Yes a desk if you have to, and I do have one but I use it sparingly. Sometimes the burden of your work and your derriere, tóin, cheeks, whatever you call them will rest easier on an easy chair (where else?) a stool to put the feet up. Nowadays you can get a fair bit done on the iphone before you doze off. Yes, for in the office, sleeping on the job would be frowned upon, or worse. At home it is a clear benefit and one not to be ignored. The ideal home office is greatly enhanced by the addition of a sofa. Reclining there provides an unrivalled opportunity to retreat into one’s own mind’s recesses. Rarely my briefs I receive without a period reclining on the sofa. If sleep comes dropping slow, so be it. Some of my greatest ideas have come to me whilst asleep. Some have been instantly forgotten on waking but I console (fool?) myself by classifying them not worthy.

Pele Name Inspired by the Irish Christian Brothers

Tales are emerging form Brazil that Edson Arantes de Nascimento, better known to most of us as Pele, may have derived his famous name from where other than the influence of an Irish Christian Brother from Kerry.

Pele was born in Três Corações, Brazil, the son of a Fluminense footballer Dondinho. His initial nickname was Dico. Thankfully that didn’t stick. Just doesn’t have the same ring about it, does it? Carlos Alberto, to Gerson, to Jairzinho. Goooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaalllllll.

A Dico header.

Brother Ambrosius O Se from Kerry was stationed in the Mission in Três Corações. A keen scholar of Irish and naturally a follower of gaelic football, he was fascinated with the skill levels of the local Brazilian youth. One such player was the boy wonder Edson. He approached Br Ambrosius one day and asked him could he play with the ball that the good Christian Brother was kicking nonchalantly against the wall of the school and catching as it flew back to him.

‘Futebol’, shouted the young Edson.

‘Peile’ replied Br Ambrosius.

‘Futebol’, shouted the young Edson again.

‘Peile’ again replied Br Ambrosius in great humour altogether. This went on.

A passing group of the village’s young girls giggling, pointed at Edson and hearing what they thought was his new nickname shouted repeatedly at him “Peile, Peile, Peile.’

From there the name Peile stuck. Edson was happy he was no longer called Dico, of course he was, and he has made his name as the greatest foreign games player ever. It was eventually shortened to the more familiar Pele.

Br Ambrosius? He was last seen coaching sailing up the Amazon on a Steamboat, smoking a large cigar and sipping a Caipirinha. His fame made as the man who named Pele, however accidentally. He is the toast of Brazilians who wax lyrical whenever his name is mentioned.

~ Living on Your Western Shore ~

Overlooking Teampall Chaomháin in Inis Oírr. The sunken church in the graveyard is beside the grave of Saint Caomhán, who legend has it was the elder brother of St Kevin of Glendalough.

The Saint is referenced in Seamus Heaney’s beautiful poem St Kevin and the Blackbird.

Inis Oírr remains one of my favourite places in Ireland, the peacefulness of wandering a bóithrín between high stone walls, drifting off the beaten track. The sound of birds & the nearby roar of the sea pounding Ireland’s exposed western shore.

It’s a different world & even a few short days can sustain you & clear the mind.The roads radiate outwards from the West Village, whether you head past Cill Ghobnait [St Gobnait’s Church] towards Tobair Éanna [St Enda’s Well] or by an Bothar Nua to view the Plassy & the lighthouse, it’s a contemplative place to walk & be alone.

In the summer the air is a-buzz & a-flutter with butterflies & hoverflies. Occasionally a cow might peer between the gaps in the limestone wall bordering small the fields of soil made from sand & seaweed an age ago.

We visited when the electricity was out & the lack of power shocked the system in an even better way. No wifi, pints by candlelight & an imagining of a simpler island life.

Inis Oírr, a place to sample & return. To immerse if possible in the language & a slower simpler rhythm of life.

It is beautifully bleak & that is the charm. Time to plan a return visit again.

#Inisheer #InisOirr #AranIsands #WildAtlanticWay #TourismIreland #Failte