It’s 1840, you’re headed home after a 16 hour shift down at the local carpenters and you’re absolutely knackered. Covered head to toe in dust and grime, joints aching and your 25th birthday just around the corner. As you sit down at the dinner table with your 5 kids and equally knackered wife, your back hunches over into a crooked C shape. There’s just enough stew to go round, and the bread is rationed at a mouthful each. As the watered down broth touches your lips, you think to yourself…. there’s got to be more to life than this.
24 - 16 = 8. Eight measly hours left to wind down, relax, spend time with your family, and indulge in some self care. That’s the minimum required amount to even sleep, (although you don’t know that yet, give it about 100 years.) No, you’ve had enough of this nonsense, it’s time to do something about it! Your mate Samuel Parnell has been talking about this eight hour workday and it’s starting to really make sense!
You push yourself up from the table hearing your back crack and pop as it adjusts itself from the letter C to I, grab your hat and coat, and hobble over to the nearest politicians house.