Back in the Office – Counting mugs and meetings 

Well, it’s happened. I’ve swapped my steel-toes for office-friendly shoes, the campervan for a company car park (with very clear “no overnight parking” signs), and my daily dose of fresh air for a steady stream of recycled office oxygen. I’m back in the office.

It’s familiar turf — I spent the middle chunk of my career in this setting, managing projects from behind a desk. But for the past several years, I’ve been out there, boots on the ground, living the field life from my trusty campervan.

Now don’t get me wrong — there’s something oddly comforting about walking into a building that doesn’t sway in the wind, with heating that doesn’t rely on whether the van battery made it through the night. There’s tea on tap, a toilet that flushes (a luxury we field folk don’t talk about enough), and people wandering about in clean clothes, talking about things like “strategy” and “delivery milestones.” And not a whiff of diesel in the air.

But after a few days of nodding thoughtfully in meetings, pretending to understand the latest version of the project Gantt chart, I’m starting to remember why I left this life behind.

Sure, I get to look important when I say things like “let’s circle back” and “we need to work collaboratively on this,” but I’d trade all of it for a half-decent drill crew and the sound of core trays clattering in the wind. And don’t get me started on Teams Meetings. If ever there was a scourge on the working world… video meeting after video meeting, calendar blocks overlapping like tectonic plates. Most could’ve been an email. Or, even better, nothing at all.

And while the endless tea supply is great in theory, I think I’ve now consumed enough tannins to preserve myself well into the next epoch. At least on site, it’s one strong brew in the morning and then back to rocks and reality. Out here, I’m just counting mugs and meetings.

Then there’s the commute — the same place, every day. It’s a strange form of time travel, watching the same hedgerows blur past, the same pothole dodged, the same car park, the same everything. Out in the field, every drive is new. Every day brings a different horizon, a different weather system trying to kill you (or at least trying to delay the drilling program). It’s oddly invigorating.

And yes, fieldwork comes with its own, let’s say, quirks — like brushing your teeth in a gale or discovering your PPE is definitely not fully waterproof. But what it lacks in creature comforts, it makes up for in adventure. Real adventure. The kind where you’re digging through glacial till with frozen fingers and still thinking, “I wouldn’t trade this for all the tea in the office.”

Well. Almost all the tea.

The only real downside to field life? Being away from my family. That bit never gets easier, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t weigh heavy some days. But that absence also makes the return sweeter — swapping stories, muddy boots at the door, and maybe even a proper loo break.

For now, I’ll ride out this stint in the warm, well-lit world of offices. I’ll tick the boxes, write the risk assessments, and nod sagely in meetings. But soon enough, I’ll be back where I belong — chasing rocks, dodging rainstorms, and living life one van park-up at a time.

Until then — keep it muddy.

The Nomadic Geologist