20 December 2018 (Thursday) - After The Night Shift


As I drove home after a rather busy night shift I found myself listening to the radio in a sense of disbelief. With Mrs May surely poised to go down in history as one of the worst Prime Ministers that the country has ever had (and that is up against some pretty stiff competition), the pundits on the radio were all a-twitter that the Leader of the Opposition allegedly called her a “stupid woman”.
He says he didn’t.
What with all the problems the nation faces it speaks volumes that this is headline news. How ironic that the nation should have (possibly) its most useless Prime Minister at *exactly* the same time as it has its (apparently) most incompetent Leader of the Opposition. No matter how much of a stuff-up Mrs May makes of Brexit (and consequently the country), the vast majority of people would still prefer her over Mr Corbyn.
Is he really as bad as he is painted? I doubt it, but he’s made quite a reputation for himself. Sometimes I wonder if him and his deputy Diane Abbott are actually secret agents for the Conservative party whose mission is to make the Labour party unelectable. It pains me that they are doing a *very* good job of it.

There was also talk on the radio that the House of Commons is now packing up for its Christmas break. That’s nice for them. I understand quite a few people are also starting their Christmas holidays now. Good for them. I must admit to a twinge of jealousy. But only a twinge.
I get quite a bit of stick about the hours I work (or don’t work). Most of it is good natured; some isn’t. There’s no denying that I seem to have a *lot* of free time during the year. Like today. Quite often I am off on jollies and pub crawls and walks and stuff in my rostered time off when everyone else is taking a day’s holiday.
However the flip side of that is this time of year.
I *seem* to have a lot of time off because I work the same amount of hours as everyone else, but I work them in a place that never closes. Where everyone else does their work-time nine-to five on Mondays to Fridays (and Bank Holidays off), my working hours can be any time of night or day, any day of the year. Whilst everyone else is now breaking up for the Christmas holidays and firms are closing for up to a two-week break, I’m not. This year I shall be at work until nine o’clock on Christmas Eve. Mind you this year I’m off on both Christmas Day and Boxing Day which is something of a result. I’ve worked three of the last four Christmas Days.

I came home to three rather excited dogs. The torrential rain had finally stopped, and it was a bright morning. I took the wolf-pack for a little walk. We did our usual circuit in reverse.
The co-op field was a swamp, and the area in the park below the Chinese garden was under quite a bit of water. Chest-deep on Pogo. I made a little video of them playing in the flood.
Having pinched another dog’s tennis ball, Pogo then played nicely with a little Jack Russell we meet from time to time. This little dog is a timid hound; having been attacked by a large Alsatian he is usually a bag of nerves. It was good to see him playing nicely with Pogo (of all dogs). It was such a shame that Pogo had to then pick a fight with a passing Collie.

We came home; "er indoors TM" had left me orders to unblock the dishwasher. The hose to the drain was rather badly clogged with what looked like dog hairs.
With dishwasher unblocked I had a scrub, and managed two hours asleep in bed before Fudge declared “Red Alert”; the postman had the audacity to deliver some letters.

I got up to see what he had delivered. There was a letter from the GP about my referral to the ENT people. The GP had sent me login details so I could book my own appointment on-line. He *could* probably have given me those when I saw him two weeks ago.
I logged on; the website banged on about how important it was that I had a choice of to where I could be referred. I had a choice of one hospital. The website also said that the average wait for an appointment was eight days, and then didn’t offer me anything earlier than March. Once I’d booked it all it asked if I’d like to take part in a customer satisfaction survey. I did so, told them how crap it all was, and was asked if I’d like to join some on-line community of what looks like whingers and troublemakers. I said I’d give it a go; looks like I would be at home there.
Postie had also delivered the invoice for the boiler service that was done the other week. I paid that on-line, then told the world about my sixth choice of book for the book challenge.

Three Men in a Boat” is a classic. Everyone has heard of it; I doubt one person in a thousand has read it. I first read it over thirty years ago. I still laugh out loud at parts of it. Despite being written in an age before mobile phones and the Internet (twenty-five years before the First World War), people then were just the same as people now. If anyone takes up only one of my book choices, this would be the one to go for.

I emptied the washing machine, hung out laundry round the radiators and put another load in; if only to check the drain wasn’t leaking from where I’d had it all apart earlier. I then made myself a cuppa and had a mince pie with it. "er indoors TM" had left orders that I was to eat them. One box of mince pies is for visitors and for show. The other one (the one that Treacle has had) is for me to get scoffed as quickly as possible.

I did have all sorts of stuff I could have done, but two night shifts had done for me so I slobbed in front of the telly watching episodes of “Prison Break” until "er indoors TM" came home. We had a rather good bit of dinner and a bottle of plonk. Not too shabby…

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