Mr. Quiet

People (family, friends & work colleagues) have told me a lot recently that I have been quiet, by which I take it to mean I haven't been as prolific as usual. Always proceeded with the question “Are you alright?”

Looking here it doesn't appear that I have been any quieter recently, but maybe I have been quiet in cyber-space? I dare say this could be attributed to the issues of recent weeks which have understandably distracted me and adjusted my priorities. Writing, whittering and posting on Facebook & Twitter provide a necessary release valve to expel pressure and I gain great pleasure in occasionally making people smile or provoking a response.

Yet I remain so reticent to circulate my blog, this is mainly 'cause it exposes me, makes me vulnerable and because I've been so open. I wish I could publish certain entries whilst keeping others secret, but it appears that in publishing one entry it gives people access to all of them. There must be a way of doing this, even if it's not obviously apparent (which is disappointing for a lazy man). I'll have to investigate.

Halloween

I detest Halloween; I don't understand the celebration of all things evil & bad that the 31^st October marks. Don't get me wrong I like a celebration, any excuse in fact usually, but I don't get the fuss about All Hallows Eve. Now if it was closer to a day of celebration of the lost & remembrance for the dead (similar to the Mexican day of the dead which appears to have value and importance) I'd certainly sign-up (although I'm not a great fan of dressing-up).

Even so, despite my dislike of the occasion, I still feel the need to take-in provisions to placate all the children and teens dressed-up, consequently avoiding having the house egged, plants pulled up and other displays of wanton destruction.

Now November the 5^th that's a different matter; a proper British celebration, none of this American imported muck. I love America but not everything we have adopted from our Yankee cousins is great, high on the list of negatives must be Halloween? The Halloween of 2011 just appears cheap, plasticey and all together rather hopeless.

As a child we didn't mark the occasion at all, mainly because of the families belief structure. But in the 1970's & 1980's in the Midlands of my childhood it merged in with Bonfire night, we took a few good bits like carving vegetables, but that's about it. But never a pumpkin; the vegetable of choice in Walsall was a swede or a turnip. Have you ever tried to carve a swede (so hard) or a turnip (so fiddly)? I don't think I saw a pumpkin until I was well into my teens.

And Trick or Treat is a fairly new phenomena, the only time I went door to door as a child was to ask for my ball back, during bob-a-job week or carol singing.

Grabbing a coffee this morning the staff of Caffe Nero had dressed-up; a zombie and a slutty vampire. Whilst I admired their desire to brighten-up a glum Monday morning, I still wanted to shout … Grow Up! Whereas in fact my lone comment was … " What are you planning for Bonfire night? Sparklers in your hair? Indoor fireworks? Stick a Guy on the counter?" All good suggestions, apart from the sparklers, Health & Safety fire risk.

If I had my way we'd go out tonight, avoid any Trick or Treat'ers completely, but EJT is snowed under with school preparation so will be locked away in her office until late. So I'll have to open the door as well.

When they knock I'd just shout F*CK OFF! back through the letter box, but that's not appropriate for a Children's Nurse apparently.

I had a bad experience a few years ago on Halloween (previously documented on the old LiveJournal Shipyards blog) whilst living at Todd Terraces, when I opened the door to a teenager in a Scream mask who lunged at me with a large kitchen knife. Never has the phrase “I shat myself” been more appropriate. Since then I've had a bit of a thing about opening the front door around these occasions, understandable I think you'll agree?

Some of the local little people came round on Saturday and Sunday early evening, but I expect more tonight. Maybe I could turn off all the lights downstairs and hide in my bedroom until November arrives?

12 Step Dough

So we'll try this again ...

149.6

Reduce Reduce Reduce Reduce Reduce Reduce Reduce Reduce Reduce Reduce

Reduce Calories Reduce Carbs Reduce Fat Reduce Sugar

Reduce Weight

So my intentions are good, but I have very poor will-power and there are food temptations at every turn it seems. Even when you try to be good you are limited by the low-calorie options available and I rapidly tire of fruit.

I think I'm going to have to enter a twelve step program for my bread addiction, I'm finding it really difficult to avoid & give-up. The more I try the more I crave. I'm in a right dough-related pickle.

Sample (Take 2)

No one can know the sheer shame and embarrassment of being greeted by your first name by the staff of a sperm bank; it was bad enough to catch the eye of the receptionist as I walked up the short drive and for her to give me a jaunty little wave, but to be greeted by your first name as you walk through the door. Well that's beyond comment, don't they realise this is a deeply sombre and embarrassing affair?

To be that memorable after a lone first *shakes head*

As I was walking to the clinic I received a paniced phone call from EJT saying that my Father-in-Law was planning to come round and mow the lawns. She had visions of me 'mid-act' and being walked in upon. Thankfully it was all done by this point.

Not easy at home, hard to get hard, but significantly easier than in the sterile environement of Burton hospital. The need to produce something significant is stressful in it's self, but I felt I equated myself better on my second go. Although the massive pot that they provide you with would make anyones 'output' appear inadequate.

We haven't shared much information with family or friends; perhaps it may have helped, perhaps not? I still think we could have broken a few taboos, maybe we still can? The weight of expectation is increadably heavy; my own, the expectations of EJT, those of both families and friends. Our lack of children is always very obvious and often provokes comment.

I pissed everything out last time, so I made myself drink copious fluids the morning prior, this in created an issue in itself on the thirty mile journey from home to Burton. But at least I wasn't dehydrated when the time came.

In preparation I got everything together, car packed for work (uniform, meal and paperwork) and clothes left out at the ready. Showered, shaved and brushed teeth. Did the deed. Showered again (can't help but feel grubby following). Dressed and departed, sample dug deep in my trouser pocket, mindful of the instruction to keep it warm.

Arrived at the clinic an hour on the dot following production. Two hours out of my day (an hour there and an hour back), to what in the end amounted to dropping off a pot and using the trusts facilities. Under ten minutes spent on the car park, 80p for the privalidge.

Then straight into work on a late shift, flushed, ashamed and embarrassed. Dirty boy. The childish rhyme “We know what you've been doing!” playing loudly in my brain.

But it's done now, irrespective of the result, it's done.

If preparation for a meeting with Mandy ...

Foolish place to wait

I have to question the wisdom of parking myself up at the Trentham Hotel (a Toby Carvery attatched to a Travel Lodge) whilst EJT supervised a year seven school disco this evening.

The Trentham Hotel is situated within a mile of the Britannia ground, so obviously not the best place to gather on the night of a European cup match at home. Packed to the rafters, they clearly didn't expect so many fans to desend, crazy since it is probably the closest pub to the ground (omiting the Gardeners Retreat a Harvester, which I think actually closes on all home games). Two bar staff in such a huge establishment, real error made. Not sure how chuffed I'd be if I was staying here on business (or even pleasure / leisure) and couldn't get a beer or a bite to eat “Come back at eight duck, they'll be gone by then".

Once I had battled to the front of the bar, I desended down the line from three hand pumped via Tetleys until eventually arriving at the old favourite of John Smiths, not that it mattered- ALL OFF! The pressure was on, so somehow I ended up with a bottle of Bulmers Pear Cider which I really didn't want. I'm hopeless with choice, especially when cornered and it was that or Fosters. There was probably more, but that was all I could see squashed-up. I'd deliberately positioned my self by the bitter pumps, but also found myself positioned with the bitter punters pissed off with the lengthy wait and amount of beers off. 

On a positive note I won £10 on the Deal or No Deal quiz machine.

My visit to Burton-Upon-Trent Department of Reproductive Medicine

WARNING: This blog contains themes of a sexual nature, explicit language and general shame & embarrassment. You have been warned. .

No bravado today, just some truth. Managed to locate the car park and a space swiftly, despite needing the toilet from almost the moment I left Stone with my anxious bladder. All I did throughout the morning was piss; it was pouring out of me; it seemed that no sooner had I left the toilet that I needed to go again. When I'm nervous this nervousness always manifests itself in my urinary system. On arriving at Burton hospital I dashed from the car park to try and find a bathroom, before it all started spurting out of me. Hello it's Mr. Pissy-Pants here to give a semen sample.

Of course things are never simple, I went to the Burton Clinic (as directed on the confirmation letter I received) at 1.15pm, prior to the 1.30pm appointment, to be greeted by blank faces. Eventually I discovered that the Department of Reproductive Medicine wasn't within the hospital but in an outbuilding at the other end of the hospital site. So I dashed over there anxious to not miss my appointment; arriving red, hot, sweaty and flustered (sensations that continued for much of the day) Matters were not helped by seeing an ex-colleague as I was dashing …

“... what are you doing here? I didn't know you lived in Burton”

“I don't!”

(puzzled face)

(Tell the truth, break some taboos) “Clinic appointment”

“Couldn't you go in Stoke?”

“Nope! They only do it here ...” (pointing to Burton Department of Reproductive Medicine sign)

“Ooh!!!” (moment of dawning, helped by my pointing)

I don't know who was more embarrassed me or him, well I do … me! It was bound to happen, I could have gone to John O'Grotes and would have still seen someone I knew, so a neighbouring Health Authority was never going to provide much anonymity.

All of this didn't set me up well, the whole experience was deeply – deeply embarrassing & uncomfortable.

After a twenty minute wait alone in a waiting room with Doctors being shown on the TV, I was eventually shown to a room (cupboard) by a lab technician who gave me some directions (Can you feel the embarrassment through the screen?) A hugely clinical and NHS sterile, about the least sexy or erotic place I have ever been. A plastic Ikea garden chair (just like ours at home, only white), sink, coat hook, various health promotion posters stuck to the walls and some 'literature' The most dog-eared hardcore pornography imaginable.

Let's keep it simple (blunt); it took an age to get hard (the porn was no help whatsoever) , then remain hard and when I did ejaculate it was a pitiful amount. I was never under the illusion that I produced a porn-star gush, but I knew even by my standards it was rubbish!

Wanking away, but it was hopeless, I was dry. So once I had regained my composure (less red, sweaty and generally grubby) and took my head out of my hands, I put my sample in the allotted cupboard, exited and bravely asked to speak to someone. Quite courageous for a wet lettuce like myself.

They were lovely and offered many words of encouragement; not the first by any means, they have to deal with all manner of situations (I didn't ask her to elaborate) and were more understanding still when I divulged that I was a nurse. If I'd prefer I can bring a second sample in from home next week, but they will still test today's sample. Why didn't they offer this option initially, reducing the stress of hanging around all morning, having to drive for nearly an hour and obvious performance anxiety. Let me be frank (Hello Frank) I'm not and have never been one of life’s natural performers . Beyond this, I didn't and don't have the inclination to make any jokes or draw attention to the situation. So no posts on Facebook or Twitter, just an anxious / embarrassed call to EJT.

Balaclava

I just hope I'll be able to perform?

I've tried to think of it as being erotic, but to me clinical and erotic don't exactly go together. Yeah I'm quite embarrassed at the prospect, but more than embarrassed I'm more worried that I'll just go to bits. I am unable to think of a way that will ensure that I can deliver, just got to go with it I suppose?

It's all very uncomfortable; I've tried to think of ways I can break the taboo and make it a bit easier. I debated posting on Facebook & Twitter …

“Where am I and what am I doing? The closest wins a prize”

But if people then offered suggestions they would of course want to know the answer and I don't think I'm up to saying ...

 “I'm at a fertility (sperm) clinic”

... irrespective of my desire to break some taboos. 

Turns out it's the week to be scrutenised; my professional abilities, my nursing capabilities and now my sperm. I'm even having my mortgage reviewed on Saturday!

I'm not sure I have a character that suits scrutinisiation, lets hope on all accounts I acquaint myself well?I'm more nervous that perhaps I should be, but in all cases there doesn't appear to be anything I can do about it now, earlier perhaps … but now nowt.

I don't want to be letting anyone down; I can cope with disappointing myself (he's use to it!), but the expectations of others appear to lay a little heavier.Keep repeating the Oddrt mantra “It'll be fine” over & over again.

It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine.

Greggs 'n' Grease

The picture says more about the rapid decline in Hanley (City centre of Stoke-on-Trent) than a thousand words perhaps could? A Greggs next door to a Pawn Broker, opporsite a Brighthouse (Have now. Pay in monthly instalments for the next five years. End up paying 50% more overall).

 

This and the growing poliferation of mobile burger vans. Open as I arrived (08.30am), it is difficult to comprehend having (or wanting) a burger for breakfast, especially the grease-a-thon / hygiene defecit that is the majority of mobile vans. Don't get me wrong there's a place for grease at breakfast; but fried onions, eating on the street, risk of food poisoning, doesn't really appeal.

Are they ...?

A Vague Sense of Unease

I'm feeling a slight sense of unease today, perhaps increasingly aware of what potentially lies ahead of me? In doing the off-duty I need to be aware of my responsibilities, only my responsibilities haven't been very well defined up to this point.

I have a meeting with the Matron to firm up some of these details, but sadly that meeting isn't until Friday and it's (late)Monday now. Now my CV is done it will allow me some time to gather my thoughts and construct a crib sheet.

I'll put out the Christmas / New Year request sheet, that may appease the troops for a little while if I have to hold the next off-duty until the week-end.

Arriving on the ward this evening there was a palpable air of anxiety, perhaps I have to accept that I may no longer be one of the team. Tomorrow they are having a little tea-party for one of the girls who turns sixty, but they neglected to invite me … not that I'd attend, but that's not the point! They have also spent the collection with gathered on a gift, despite there being previous discussion that I would order a bouquet of flowers. So that's me £25 out of pocket, won't be sharing that piece of information with EJT. I feel a little hurt, I fear this is an emotion that I should get use to. No longer one of the gang.

Occupy Stone

Showing solidarity to my World-wide protesting Brother & Sisterhood. I went and "occupied" some of the banking establishments in Stone, a lone venture. It was early and perhaps others turned up later?!?

Obviously I couldn't occupy for long as I had to go to work, but the thought was there.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occupy_Wall_Street

Done & dumped

CV deposited, I just followed the long-line of grumpy people clutching manilla envelopes.

A lady in an autumnal bumble-bee jumper didn't appear particularly enamoured to receive the envelope containing my CV. On reflection I should have said … “You think that's bad, wait 'til you see what's inside Sweetheart!”

She was in for a glorious day, how many people who work at the UHNS were handing in documents today (either preferred options or CV's)? She could of at least smiled. It would have been easier if they had just put out a few labelled dustbins (surgical division, medical division, women & child, etc) in the foyer, then people could have just tossed their envelope in the respective bin.

No face-to-face contact and it cut's out the middle (wo)man some may say?

Greatness

"Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them".William Shakespere Twelth Night (Quote Act 2, Scene 5).

...  and others still are seen coming from a long long way away.

GREAT

Deligation

So I have begun sharing out the jobs, it has not been exactly received with jubilation. I can't do everything and why should I? Certainly the other band sixes should pick up some jobs otherwise how can they expect to receive a band six and extra responsibility after the M.O.C. If you're not willing to step up to the plate prior, how can you possible believe you deserve a senior post in 2012? If we all do our fair share then the following five months should be a lot more memorable ... hopefully?!?

Plastic Beakers

It doesn't matter which one of the brightly coloured beakers you pick, they all smell funny. Once we had one lone clean clear pint glass, that everyone would gravitate towards to drink from. But that went on a journey when 12A disbanded, never chased or replaced. Now all we are left with are child friendly safe plastic cups long past their best. I know these are completely appropriate on a children's ward for the children, but surely the staff can be trusted with breakables?

Apparently not, these beakers which manage somehow to take any joy or pleasure out of the beverage poured into them. I fill them to the rim with ice but it improves little. They're horrid, from the slight give when you grip, to the unpleasant juddering that occurs when it accidentally brush against your teeth and that musky odour that remains irrespective of washing, soaking & bleaching.

And there's a taste, yes they taste plasticey ... as a plastic beaker of course would. At four in the morning these sort of things appear to bother me more than they perhaps should?

“My hips don't lie ...”

Too much time spent immobile, feel positively arthritic & locked. Despite one further patient it's no busier tonight and I continue to sit on my arse. Prospects are that unless we have a mad influx of admissions (unusual mid-week in October) it might be even quieter still tomorrow night, with one lone patient.

I am concerned that the itchy area on the inner aspect of my right thigh is not an insect bite as previously thought but is in fact evidence of a swiftly developing pressure sore. It's not exactly easy to keep moving in the middle of the night; with the hospital locked down there's not many places to wander to and I can't venture too far from the ward anyway. A brisk walk up to the accident unit to gaze at the drunks is about as good as it gets i.e. not very good at all.

I took a short walk up to the BP garage yesterday afternoon to pick-up a few papers; it was good to actually move. I haven't downloaded my steps from my pedometer yet this week, but I fear the evidence of inactivity will be shocking?

With the prospect of an even quieter night perhaps I should try something more in-depth than the 20p i and the local rag The Sentinel. I fear even picking up a full complement of broadsheets wouldn't keep me occupied for long. I could get back to my book, but despite really enjoying it, once opened it always appears that I have only ten to fifteen minutes of reading before my eyelids get heavy and I start to drift off.

The lass I'm on with tonight has this habit of informing me on the hour and at every hour how long of the shift we have left. Let me tell you at ten o'clock you really don't want someone saying “Only nine and a quarter hours to go!”

Laughter is the best medicine ...

If laughter is really the best medicine it explains why the hospitals are all so full. There isn't much happiness, joy or laughter to be found in the current NHS, less if Cameron and his Condemn (Conservative & Liberal Democrat coalition) cronies get their way with their proposed cuts and reforms.

I arrived to a list of woes, which always starts a shift off on the wrong foot irrespective of the time of day.

“MH isn't happy with her off-duty, she's working before her annual leave”

Oh is that right? The off-duty that I've only just started, is in no way complete and illustrates about as much form & accuracy currently as a bucket of poorly set jelly. What could she be unhappy about, the proposed late shift that she'll be working before thirteen days off, for which she is only using four days of annual leave? Surely not!?! I think someone should wind their head in a tad, in case they are viewed as a bit of a stroppy madam who pulls faces, has a tantrum if she doesn't get her own way and holds people to ransom with her puppy dog eyes.

“The fax machine has run out of ink and we can't find a replacement cartridge”

That would be because we don't appear to have a replacement cartridge, I will attempt to order one tonight. And order one (or two) I would have done if after locating the appropriate order book and necessary budget code, I had been able to find the item number for a print roll refill for a Panasonic KX-FP141 fax machine within the NHS Supply Chain Office & Facility Supplies Catalogue. There are many fax printer roll refills, many made by Panasonic but not one that matched either our model machine or the previous roll. Something for the day staff to sort out, which no doubt will provoke yet more chuntering.

Another member of staff wanted to be taken off a night shift towards the end of the month, because with a mandatory study day she was over her hours. Not an unreasonable request I suppose, but one difficult to facilitate so near the date in question. If you can find someone down on their hours and willing to do it then you are welcome to swap, but I think it's fairly unlikely.

I was a little cheesed off that her request came through another member of staff, when she could easily have left a little note or sent me an email. It may also have had a tad more gravitas if she hadn't also entrusted her colleague to tell me that she wouldn't be attending tomorrows study day 'cause her husband had forgotten he was also on a training event and she had no one to look after the twins. I was too fatigued already to point out that I thought the girls were both now in school full time and the study day was from 9am until around 3pm!?! Whilst I'm vaguely sympathetic, I also have to say “... and you're sharing this because???” I can not concern myself with these petty issues, I don't really want to know.

So what irks tonight?

As things have changed and a new period of my nursing career has begun I thought I should make a more concerted effort to write about the hospital, I know it is a subject that features heavily already.

I’m going to be more considered in my comments and potential attacks, certainly nothing about the patients or the care we provide (unless called for). Confidentiality will obviously be maintained throughout, this is meant to be cathartic not career suicide.

There's certainly lots of material to be found, much of it very close at hand. The bureaucracy and ridiculousness of a working life within the NHS, especially currently as we 

prepare for the move to the new hospital site, Management of Change and Fit For the Future and all the characters will all no doubt deliver bountiful crops of criticism, comment and complaint, but hopefully also some comedy?

Pretending ...

So JK went on annual leave today in preparation for her cruise later in the week; she returns for a few shifts in just over a fortnight to tie up a few loose ends and hand over anything remaining. But in essence I am now in charge- I am Pretending (acting) Ward Manager. I expected at least a small fanfare, some party poppers popped, a couple of party blowers blown or kazoos kazooed, not a sudden sense of dawning at two in the morning.

I haven't introduced a regime change as yet, there is little change one can introduce (One, already getting to grips with the lingo!) at this witching hour, nothing seems pertinent nor important at this time of the night beyond going to bed and taking one's trousers off!

Gluttony ...

Yesterday was a very slovenly day, a day of excess. Whilst the cats away the mice will play. Well this particular mouse wasn't particularly bothered about playing, he preferred to gorge himself on food he isn't normally allowed and he's now full of rodent regret (perhaps he's got it out of his system now?)

It's going to be a rather isolated few days- Work – Sleep – Wash – Eat. I go from bed to sofa, sofa to car, car to chair (then sometime later), chair to car, car to bed, bed to sofa. Round & round until Saturday lunchtime, the round-about of night working.

… and then you have nights like this, where it's so quiet you remain in a chair for most of the night and rarely rise. It's been a chronically slow night up to now, five hours in, just so boring. I'm willing to try anything to keep myself awake; I'd eat something but I'm not even remotely hungry, I could grab another drink but then I'll need the toilet and it'll be highly disruptive to my daytime sleep once I get home.

I shouldn't be sitting and certainly not for this long, it will do me no good. Already I can feel my hips locking and my loins heating further. I need to remove my trousers, get some air, but I don't think this will be received positively by my colleague tonight. It really would be helpful to take my trousers off, but these faded, buttonless and thinning boxers don't deserve to be seen by anyone. Especially by one of the few members of staff who actually appears to respect me.

Oh my little swimmers!

Life doesn't get tougher than this ...

Apart from location it could easily be 2007; sitting in the lounge, alone, watching Masterchef , eating Salisbury's spinach & ricotta tortellini, trying to distract myself and occupy my time prior to departing for work for a night shift. Often a very bleak time.

So much has changed, yet at the same time very little. EJT is away on a school retreat in Stratford–upon-Avon until Friday, and it was deemed appropriate that I should get a run of nights done in her absence. If I have to do the off-duty then I might as well occasionally get it to work for me. But I'd forgotten just how isolated a week of nights can be when you live alone, a day passes without speaking to anyone before arriving back at work. No wonder I was often sad?

I always intended to write to Jon Torode & Greg Wallace and thank them for the distraction Masterchef provided at a dark & often difficult time. Now it's quite a big show (despite the current series being buried mid-afternoon Monday to Friday, with two prime time week-end highlight shows) and they have become celebrities in their own right, but then it was on BBC2 after Eggheads as a teatime show with small viewing figures. No one was particularly interested, but it always made me feel hopeful … … … although I'm not sure why?

But I shouldn't complain; I have a job, a house and love (and much much more besides)

Shit List

Nick Griffin (Leader of the British National Party)

Once a shit-bag, always a shit-bag!

It is finished ...

My CV is finished … now finished is a bit strong (like the smell of urine in the Post Office) It's done (of a fashion), saved on my memory stick & on my hard drive and is (potentially) ready to be sent. But I know I'll be twiddling, editting, adding and omitting right up until  the Monday morning deadline when I drop it off in person at the devisional office. But at least it's done before I start this weeks run of nights … kind of?!?

P*ssed Office

Comforting smell of stale dank piss in the Post Office queue. I'm not even sure if the deralict building which I stood in earlier was a Post Office? Yes they make you queue for an age, sell stamps, take parcels off you which eventually arrive at their destination sometime later; but it's more of a shithole than a Royal Office.

... and whilst I'm on familiar rants.

WH Smiths; stop giving me little shity bits of paper. I know I've raged about this before, but it appears to be getting worse. Every purchase made results in receiving a voucher for something or other. It use to be a single piece of paper, but now it's often a trio of pointless scraps.

The whole principle is that you retain the voucher for a later date (usually two weeks plus after the original purchase) and they obviously assume that most will simply discard them before they can be used.

Well I'm wise to your little game Mr & Mrs. Smith; I've been retaining all those little scraps of paper in a plastic wallet and sort through them before leaving the house.

75p saved on a greetings cards. In your face Smiths!

I just like it ...

Diese vorbereitung der bereitschaft ...
(This preparation of readiness)

Hans Hemmert (2007)

German Panther (balloon / air / idles) 960 x370 x 300cm

As part of the exhibition: "This preparation is the willingness of the behavior-open for the arrival of the god or the inevitable"

http://ingesidee.de/page.php?pgid=63&lang=en&subpage=1

LEGO CV

My CV is like LEGO; all the bits are there they just need to be constructed. And like LEGO there is a very specific idea of what it should look like (although they don't provide instructions or a helpful picture), but where as with LEGO there is plenty of room for self-expression, with a CV there are only a few ways you can construct it successfully. I know I am perfectly capable of putting it together all wrong and there certainly isn't much room for self-expression (keep it brief & don't waffle, yet still sell yourself)

“Well it's meant to be an ambulance, although it appears I've actually built a flush toilet! I feel it says more about me”

I continue to struggle to become motivated, perhaps the only true motivation will be one caused by blind panic caused by the swift passing of time? 10 days until it's the 17^thOctober, still plenty of time to gain some anxiety momentum.

Conversations with senior managers and colleagues hasn't provided any greater motivation, I know even on submission it will be as much a case of … “That'll do!” as “Please give me a job!” In actual fact these conversations have made me want it even less, I am still struggling to uncover the incentive.

It COULD be you ...

I not completely sure about the newly introduced Health Lottery, the first draw of which takes place on Saturday night. Surely they're taking the p*ss, if only with the name?

A lottery you say?
To raise money for local health provision you say?
So it's actually a health postcode lottery then? HONESTLY

If people are so concerned about the health care available locally (or even Nationally) perhaps they'ed be better off just giving a pound to their local hospital charitable trust each week instead of throwing it into another lottery wishing well. Do they not realise the good causes only receive 20p in every pound, the remaining 80p is used for“administration” But they would prefer the potential opportunity of winning big.

It could be you … just like cancer?!?

http://www.healthlottery.co.uk/lottery

I'm not deaf, I'm ignoring you.

Is the whole world mumbling or am I going a little deaf … or could it be that I'm just not listening? A combination of all three seems incredibly likely.

More and more often in conversations I suddenly become aware that I've drifted off, have simply tuned out and have stopped listening. It's like a valve, I appear to reach a point where eventually so much has been poured into my ears that I'm full and information is deflected at my lug-holes and runs down my neck like info ear wax (glorious imagery there).

I have blamed it on rapidly descending deafness, although I'm not exposed to unnecessary noise very frquently. I don't use earphones often, rarely undertake drilling or DIY, venture near road works and even loud concerts have become rare now; perhaps the constant wittering of women has worn down my inner ear parts?

Maybe it is closer to the truth to say I'm not interested or my interest has become more selective. It's not a conscious decision, my brain & body are doing it without any consultation with my soul.

Respect my authority ... please

The countdown truly begins to me becoming a ward manager, each day my bowels loosen slightly more at the prospect. We are probably under a month away from the actual date of JK finishing, but with annual leave, time owing and a week of tidying up some loose ends she probably won't work clinically again. So I guess I'm now it ( ... shit! )

RESPECT MY AUTHORITY

There is a real possibility that in October I could be Ward Manager, in November I could be de-banded and by December in a previously uncharted water of being both a band five and the ward manager. Well that's untenable and won't be happening; it can't happen, it really can't. If for one reason and one reason alone ... EJT told me!

Stone Food Festival

A jolly good time was had by all; the sun shone, quality food & drink was ingested. Lovely to spend time together.