Hell is teabags in the bath

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desk sxc sxc What we messy deskers lack in conscientiousness and kindness we apparently make up for in free-wheeling zest.

London - When my husband Russ and I announced we were both going to work from home, my female friends were all envious, saying: ‘I wish my husband was at home with me.’

Well, ladies, be careful what you wish for. I’d say that both of us working from our living room has been the worst thing to happen to our marriage since Russ shaved off the ghastly grizzly bear beard he’d been sporting for six months and became a magnet for older divorcees.

Why have we been forced into this domestic office space? I’m trying to look after a ten-month-old baby and keeping my career as a writer afloat.

In turn, my husband’s company moved location but didn’t want to lose him, so offered him the chance to work “remotely”. Exciting in theory - but in practice, it’s rather more problematic.

My husband works in the computer software industry so our once-stylish lounge now looks like Currys during the Boxing Day sales. Wires snake across our plush cream carpet and multiple computer screens blink and flicker where I once had a display of scented candles.

At the start of every week, before office workers have even got round to discussing Saturday night’s Britain’s Got Talent, I am already finding Russ’s working practices teeth-grindingly irritating. By 11am on Monday morning he’s dotted tea bags around the house - I found one in the bath once.

“Why can’t you put them in the bin?” I yelled. He motioned at me to shush. “I’m on a conference call,” he mouthed, raising a finger to his lips. He always seems to be on a conference call when he’s done something wrong.

Now I have a computer geek bleating in my ear all day, I look back fondly to those heady days of working in an office, when delayed trains and waiting for non-existent buses were a chance to read the newspaper.

The line between my work life and home life has gone. Instead of looking forward to Russ coming home at 6pm, it’s just more of the same.

At weekends, instead of revelling in the opportunity to spend time together, we rush off in different directions - him to play football, me to see friends - just to get a breather from each other.

So what to do? We’ve discussed it, and the horror of living and working with each other seems to be pretty insurmountable. To save our relationship, one of us has to find an office space to work from, taking their Rolodex and favourite mug with them.

One thing’s for sure: working from home has not worked wonders for my marriage. - Daily Mail

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