4 April 2014 (Friday) - Busy

I had an amazingly good night's sleep last night; finally being woken by my alarm. I can't remember the last timr that happened. It speaks volumes that I struggled to turn my phone's alarm off; I am so unfamiliar with it.
Crumpets for brekkie. "er indoors TM" had bought some (going cheap) and I was under orders to get them scoffed. They weren't anything special. Next time I shall feed them to "Furry Face TM" and stick wth toast.

To work, listening to the radio as ever. There was talk of the housing market; concern was expressed that the price of an average house is now far beyond the buying power of the average person. Apparently a house goes up in value more each day than the average person can earn in that day.
How can this be a sensible society in which you can earn more money from having a house than by working?

Once at work I did my bit, practiced my sax, and came home again. Our evening dog walk brought us through the park where I saw two rather attractive and amourous young ladies. Snogging. With each other. That was something of a result ! I watched for a few minutes until they came up for air.
As we came along Christchurch Road we saw something you don't see very often. Another Patagonian Tripe-Hound. There was a little dog which was a three-quarters sized version of my Fudge running loose in the street. The dog had no collar, and as she came sniffing round my dog I saw it was a little girl dog. I couldn't leave her running loose; Patagonian Tripe-Hounds are dogs of remarkably little brain and i had visions of her running in the road. So I scooped her up. I expected her to react to being picked up; she did; she licked me. This little pup wasn't at all bothered about having a stranger picking her up.
I then spent five minutes walking the length of Christchurch Road bellowing out asking if anyone had lost a dog. After a while a chap emerged to claim her, and we chatted about how marvellous Patagonian Tripe-Hounds are.

My phone rang. "Daddies Little Angel TM" was bleeding and was on the way to the hospital. So I went up there to do what I could. In the end it was as well that I turned up. Despite the deliberate unhelpfulness of the receptionist I eventually found her in the maternity unit where another obstructive jobsworth informed us all that she was not far enough gone for them to be interested. When we asked if she should just carry on bleeding until she died, this onstructive jobsworth (who claimed to be a midwife!) suggested we might go home and call an ambulance which would then bring us back to this very ward.
I marched my daughter (and grand-unknown) over to the delivery suite where I demanded to speak to the most senior midwife. I explained what we'd been told, and I suggested that if we could all pretend that we'd come into the hospital by ambulance we might save an hour's farting about (as well as the cost of an ambulance ride).
Finally we found someone to take us seriously. Scans were done, investigations made. All was well, and after an injection of anti-D we went home via a celebratory McDonalds...

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