Last night’s night shift was… I won’t say “busy”; in my professional world “busy” is running round in circles screaming “OMG!! OMG!!” with a truly immediately urgent case needing attention right that second. I would say the workload was relentless; with demands on my services all night long. It never fails to amaze me how on a night shift I will have in the region of fifty to seventy blood samples when back in the day if I got out of bed more than three times we would remark on what a bad night it had been.
As I drove home the pundits on the radio were spreading panic by quite blatantly trying to start rumours about Christmas being cancelled. There was an interview with one of the government’s scientists who was quite honest and said that the new variant of COVID is on the increase, and increasing far quicker than any other strain. But their models of how it would pan out were open to interpretation with the worst case scenario being ten times worse than their best case scenario. He said that all they could do was present their figures to the politicians who had to decide on what action to take.
This was followed by an interview with the deputy Prime Minister who said that scientists deal in theory; politicians deal with facts. If I were the interviewer I would have crucified the deputy Prime Minister over that rash statement, but it passed utterly unchallenged. The chap then wittered a few platitudes, and said that recently emerged photos of the Prime Minister, his wife and seventeen staff having a bit of a party in the garden at 10 Downing Street during the lockdown showed people “having a drink after a busy set of work meetings and acting entirely within the rules of the time”. These rules being the same ones which prevented me going to see my mum whilst I still could. Not that I’m bitter.
The Prime Minister later described the photos as “People at work”… what sort of work allows you to sit round swilling wine with your mates when the rest of the country can’t?
I got home and went to bed just as the nice man from the plumber arrived. I left “er indoors TM” sorting him out; he’d come to service the boiler (!) and also to disconnect the gas fire in the living room. We’ve not used that thing in over twenty years, and when the smart meters got fitted the nice man had put a condemnation notice on it. Presumably he had found something wrong with it? Personally I wish he’d just stuck to fitting a smart meter, but there it is.
After three hours asleep I got out of the wrong said of the bed (as Treacle was in the way) and had brekkie. Toast with “Mrs Bridges Scottish Strawberry Preserve” that we’d found in the cupboard. I bet that wasn’t made with permission of the creators of “Upstairs Downstairs”. For all that there are all sorts of copyright laws, it never fails to amaze me how so many people get away with ignoring them.
The jam was rather good despite being two years past its sell-by date.
As I scoffed I had a look at the Internet. The geo-feds had unarchived that geocache I whinged about yesterday which was something of a result.
I then drove over to Henwood. “er indoors TM” had her car booked in for MOT and needed driving back home. And with her driven back home I ironed a few shirts whilst watching episodes of “Four in a Bed” in which I took an instant dislike to the chap who said he was taking part in the contest so as to pass on good advice to others. Predictably he came last and had a few spats with another contestant who came over as a rather obnoxious sexist pig.
That show is *so* good for watching petty squabbles.
With dinner boiled up “er indoors TM” set off on a major Munzee mission to Faversham. I sat in front of the telly and watched the fourth episode of “The Witcher”. It was good, but I did watch it with something of an air of “WTF is going on”.
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