The dogs were restless last night. I say “the dogs”; Treacle was
squeaking. But it only takes one dog to keep me awake. She eventually shut up
some time just before three o’clock.
Over brekkie I had a little look at the Internet. Nothing
much had changed since last night on Facebook, but I did have a flurry of
emails to read. LinkedIn wondered if I knew Anthony Keenan. So did I.
Apparently we both studied at the Open University. Looking at his profile photo
I was studying pure mathematics with the OU at the same time that he was being
born. I ignored the connection request.
NHS Jobs wondered if I might be interested in a job
in the Royal London Hospital. I’m beginning to wonder if I might approach the
job market again. This idea of eking out my time until retirement is no way to
waste the next eleven years. Whilst I don’t dislike my job, I’ve been doing it
for *so* long. I wonder if
I might spend my (hopefully) last working decade doing something utterly different. Forest
management, selling ice-creams… perhaps I might have a word with a careers
advisor?
Three new virtual geocaches had gone live (but none within a hundred miles of home).
Amazon was recommending all sorts of stuff that
didn’t interest me.
And I got an email from the British Blood Transfusion
Society that *really* boiled my piss. I rarely blog about work, but sometimes needs must.
In my work I provide blood for transfusions. I sometimes flippantly describe it
as “hours of boredom interspersed by moments of
stark terror”, but it really can be like that. With no notice
at all I may be called on to provide massive amounts of compatible blood. If I
don’t get my arse into gear right away, people may die. But that is what
hospital work is all about.
This morning the BBTS sent an email asking for
nominations for an award which “will recognise the ‘behind the scenes’ staff who contribute directly or
indirectly to the care and continuity of transfusion support”. This annoys me. The day after my son was
born I was on duty for twelve hours because no one else was available. During
that time I ensured the compatibility of over fifty units of blood for cases
involving someone with a major intestinal bleed, various people with anaemia
and a patient whose aorta had ruptured. I missed my daughter’s first eight
birthday parties so that there would be someone in the blood bank outside of
routine working hours. But (quite frankly) this is nothing special. People in hundreds of blood transfusion labs
across the country do the same and have done for years. But now nominations are
sought for “the
best”. And everyone else’s
efforts are automatically cheapened.
Once I’d calmed down I got dressed and took the
dogs out. We drove along the route I take when I am working in Pembury but
veered off and parked up in Hemsted Woods.
We had a rather good little walk though the woods.
As we walked we met a few other dogs. And I had something of a revelation. When
Pogo meets other dogs there is sometimes a bit of a woof, but it usually passes
rather quickly. If the other dogs are off of the leads, the shouting (from both sides) is all over and
done with within minutes. If the other dogs are on leads then there are often
bitter words from the people holding the leads. But… Perhaps the dogs are OK?
Perhaps the dogs are just doing what dogs do? Perhaps it is just people who are
a problem? Take for example the only “episode” we had today. One silly old bat was walking her dog on a very short
lead about a mile from the nearest road. Why not let the dog have a run? Pogo
and Treacle ignored her dog, but she went hysterical when Fudge walked within
five yards of her mutt. Fudge had previously in our walk porked other dogs (who were off the leads) and
everyone had a good laugh.
As we walked today Fudge rolled in the dust, all
the dogs had a good run. Everyone (except me) spuddled in mud, and I did the preliminary leg-work from a new series
of geocaches; hopefully twenty-three of the things over four miles.
I came home and made a start doing all the admin
and paperwork involved with turning this morning’s walk into a series of
geocaches. After three hours I was in a position to contact the geo-feds to ask
if the locations were suitable and (more importantly) to ask that the locations be reserved until I can go put the caches
out.
I’m not spending money on buying the pots until I’m
sure the locations are OK – I’m mean like that.
I then spent a couple more hours getting pictures
and working out the descriptions for the cache pages. Being all written in html
script takes some doing.
I had planned to clean out the fish pond’s filter
and get the lawn mowed, to say nothing of attacking a ton of ironing, but time
just ran away with me this afternoon. I looked at the clock to see that six
hours had passed whilst I was fiddling about creating web pages… and I’ve only
got one of twenty-three done. (To say nothing of
ordering all the bits that I need).
"er
indoors TM"
came home and boiled up some fish and chips which we washed down with a bottle
of plonk.
I really
should see about writing up those other twenty-two cache pages…
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