Last night was a typical night shift really (I
suppose), but I did find myself reflecting on how night shifts have
changed. The first one I ever did was some time in August 1985 when we were
called in from home as needed. I did maybe half a dozen blood counts that night
and was finished by half past midnight.
Last night I spent the entire shift in the department
(when I wasn't on the loo). I cleared up the work that the day shifts
couldn't complete and then had over sixty blood counts, a couple of dozen
coagulation screens and was going (quite literally) all night long.
Some days I don't get to my daily step target of six
thousand steps; I'd cleared that by half past six this morning.
The pain in my back eased a little overnight which was
a result. I did something to my back over the weekend. On Monday I
thought I'd got a trapped nerve as the pain had moved to my right arse cheek,
and yesterday it slowly moved its way down my thigh. I Googled my symptoms
(which is never a good thing to do) and ended up wishing that I hadn't.
However the Bombay Bad Bot pot noodle I had for lunch
yesterday had worked its way through, and I spent the last half of the
night wishing I'd had toast and jam for lunch instead.
I was glad to see the early shift roll in, and I was
even gladder to drive off homewards.
As I drove home the pundits on the radio were talking
about the riots sparked by the death
of Henry Nowak. Having been stabbed to death by some maniac, the
chap’s family called for his death not to be made a political issue, and so no
end of people have deliberately made it just that.
As I came up Brookfield Road I saw that petrol was
five pence per litre more expensive than what I'd paid in Maidstone to top up
last night, so that was something of a result. Mind you the pundits on the
radio had said that petrol in America was four dollars per gallon... that's
two pounds and ninety six pence per gallon which is about sixty-two pence a
litre as opposed to the one pound fifty-six pence per litre I paid last night.
You have to wonder why the Americans get their petrol so cheaply, don't you?
I got home, went to bed and woke up five hours later
feeling like death warmed up. I had a vague idea to take the dogs to Orlestone
woods for a walk, but it was hossing down.
Whilst Morgan ate “er indoors TM” ‘s
sock I phoned Sainsburys helpline to whinge. I went into the petrol station at
Aylesford last night to get exactly the same experience that I had a couple of weeks ago when I wrote: “It turned
out that despite every single food item being labelled as "meal
deal", only certain items were actually in the meal deal. The woman behind
the till felt that it was rather obvious what was and what wasn't in the deal,
and seemed to think that the labelling was some sort of advertising or artwork”.
I got through to someone whose first language
obviously wasn’t English. I outlined the problem and he’s going to investigate
it for me. That will be nice. I’ve whinged in the past… there’s a simple issue
in that they simply need to make their signage clearer, but they seem to want
to blow it out of all proportion.
I then spent quite a while making today’s blog piccie,
doing CPD, and downloading geocaches for
next week’s excursions. I downloaded about ten thousand – hopefully that should
be enough. As I downloaded I watched the first episode of the third season of “The
Handmaid’s Tale”. I can’t help but wonder if the writers have run out of
steam; the characters have completely changed from what they were in the
previous season. But I suppose it makes for dramatic telly all the time you
don’t think too hard about it.
We did “FEED THE FISH” and I gave my new hair
trimmers a first trial run. I might have been a bit vigorous with them.
“er indoors TM” boiled
up a rather good bit of scoff which we washed down with a bottle of plonk. But
not just any old bottle of plonk; the cheapest one I could find in Sainsburys
last night.
It wasn’t too shabby at all… And with it scoffed the
dogs amazed me. Rather than going over to the other sofa with “er
indoors TM”, they all looked at me expectantly. It took me
a minute to realise that they’ve realized that after our having a bottle of
plonk I usually share a packet of cheesy biccies with them.
They
are rather clever…
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