I'd say, being a modern-day aircraft technician, that it was a pretty hard existence wherever you were based. Despite everything, maintenance schedules had to be maintained, which meant that work was long and hard and, just like today was done in shifts when the aircraft weren't working, which means maintenance was round the clock. This also meant that because times between servicing shortened because of the high number of flying hours and cycles as a result of increased sortie rates meant the engineers worked all the time in all weather conditions to keep the aircraft serviceable.
Conditions for your WW2 technician were quite different compared to today; there was no Health & Safety, there was no Human Factors training, etc. No ear defenders, gloves, eye protection, etc. Conditions in some places, like in the desert airfields in North Africa and the coral islands in the Pacific, were basic, to say the least, and aside from the usual annoyances of being an engineer, you had to contend with dust, mosquitoes, heat, etc and more often than not found yourself out in the open rather than in a nice big concrete-floored hangar.
In the past I worked in a museum and we had an oral history programme and myself and another fella interviewed a number of mechanics from the local airfield. Fascinating stuff. This is a paragraph from an interview done many years ago now, the fella, based at an RAF airfield in Scotland recalled his accommodation:
"I was in a rather well to do wooden hut, I think they called it 'Officer's Two'. They were nice huts, and they had lovely coke fires and electricity, which was marvellous. The only unfortunate thing was, there were honey buckets that didn't have any water; dry latrines. So, to get a wash, you got on your bike and you pedalled down this country lane to the main site, and there you could wash and shave and have a meal."
British airfields were dispersed, with accommodation away from the hangars and often off-site altogether, which meant the humble bicycle became a sought after commodity. Here's a recollection from a meteorologist describing getting to work:
"I lived as sole occupant of an unheated Nissen hut on an abandoned peripheral site. From there I could skive off when off duty. To go on night duty I cycled in total darkness to Flying Control, falling off occasionally on the rutted paths through the woods. Earlier in the day those going on night duty picked up a tin of sardines from our chef de cuisine in the cook house; that was all we ever received."