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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