Candle In The Dark

Someone died.

This should come as no surprise, I guess. It happens every day. I see more than my fair share of it, I would cautiously suggest.

I got a phone call on Saturday, bearing the unwelcome news. I had an idea something wasn't right, social networking sites being what they are, but the call filled in the blanks.

I've made these calls, and received them, and I still don't know which is worse.

To say this was someone I know, is stretching the point. We were aware of each other, but the most interaction I think we had was a disagreement about the NHS, and some slightly unkind things were said about my bedside manner.

But he was very dear to people who are dear to me.

Can I say that I feel their pain?

Not as deeply, surely; it cannot cut as deep, cannot burn with such cruel heat.

But I know that the sun seems to shine a little less brightly today, that the curtain seems to have been pulled a bit further across the light.

Farewell, Farewell (Reprise)

Farewell, farewell to you who would hear
You lonely travellers all
The cold north wind will blow again
The winding road does call


And will you never return to see
Your bruised and beaten sons?
"Oh, I would, I would, if welcome I were
For they love me, every one"


And will you never cut the cloth
Or drink the light to be?
And can you never swear a year
To anyone of we?


"No, I will never cut the cloth
Or drink the light to be
But I'll swear a year to one who lies
Asleep along side of me"


Farewell, farewell to you who would hear
You lonely travellers all
The cold north wind will blow again
The winding road does call
(C) Warlock Music; reproduced without permission. Lyrics: Richard Thompson

Travelling Riverside Blues

Weekend japes.

Glad to get away from the Department for a few days; the potboiler atmosphere of work, commute, revision is getting me down. The looming exam has had to be deferred; I'm disappointed by myself, I wanted to take the bloody thing, and get it out of the way, but for various reasons I can't, I won't be. Maybe more of that later, maybe not. It's fairly tedious, and I'm not convinced it makes for good reading.

So, anyway, the weekend saw me and LBF away to Wales. The Alfa Shroom-mobile was back in the shop, with a holed radiator. I do love driving Alfas, but they are about as reliable as a chocolate teapot, once the warranty expires. I also had my suspicions that it wouldn't cope with the backroads I was sure we'd be taking.

So; I broke the bank and hired an Audi Q7 (I think). A big bastard of an SUV, and, for all that, it handled very well. I also discovered that giving a lift to folks has to be its own reward...

And so to Wales. Another Lemon Wedding; in Wales; in Winter.

It was brilliant. A nicer bunch of hedonists than the lemons does not exist. I shan't bore you with the full details, but the jaunt involved beautiful scenery, wool, steam trains, wool, expansive outfits, wool, brilliant hats, a wedding and wool.

The reception was held in a splendid barn, adjoining a Tipi village, and the Wedding feast deployed more meat than I think I've ever seen assembled in one place; at least without being on the hoof.

Music, dancing, hard liquor and nudity. Brilliant, happy, warm people, all gathered in a grand old celebration. The Tipis we overnighted in were a wee bit damp, but who's counting. I'm fairly certain I made a royal spectacle of myself, and happy about it.

I think, I hope LBF enjoyed herself. It was hard not to, really...

Bloke In A Dress

Casually, and swiftly, photoshopped by a good friend of mine.

I should add that the Shroom does not consider kilts to be dresses, skirts, or, indeed, anything other than manly clothing, especially whn worn 'Highlander', as both I and the Groom were.

I also have nothing against blokes wearing dresses. All power to all people, that's what I say. In fact, it's quite liberating, as long as yo remember to keep your knees together, and avoid scaring children / being placed on the sex-offenders register...

They Seek Him Here...

Christ. I really have been away for a few weeks. I, again, resolve to try to post more often, which, if you're still reading probably counts as good news.
For a certain value of 'good'.
And 'news'.

Anyway... one of my erstwhile readers, a proper doctor, not an honourary schmuck like me, has suggested a link between my real life and post frequency. He's more or less right. Sometimes, life just gets in the way.

So; an update. Non-clinical flail first.

Spent my time off NOT doing the hundred things I'd promised myself I would, so my car remains unserviced, and the kitchen unpainted. I did however spend some grand times in Wales, first with a bunch of citric types, then on a stag do.

Things I have learned include:
--It's not as easy as it seems to teach someone cannulation when your both blind drunk
-- It's not as easy as you think to find Welsh Lamb in Wales
--It's not as easy as you think to find Welsh People in Wales
--When you do find them, if you are a group of braying English boys in formal evening wear, they may not be quite as welcoming as you'd hoped
--My friend's definition of an 'easy mountain bike ride' is very far removed from my own...

Also managed some quality time with la belle fille. We exchanged parent's meets, which generally seemed to go ok. Although she's already told me her ma keeps her counsel about any perceived unsuitability until the offender is off the scene, so we'll see. Got into her da's good books by first, simultaneously, championing the GPs and belittling the Government (which is frankly all too easy these days...), then showing off my slightly geeky Dylan knowledge. (He's a Bobcat)

Charming my folks was easy for la belle; firstly she's charming and beautiful, so who wouldn't be? but also, I think they're just happy to see me with a woman. I suspect my Ma's granny clock is ticking, and my cousin's are siring offspring with almost unseemly haste...

Anyway, all seems well on this front, even as I test the limits of the embargo.

My friend survived his time on the Unit, and I embarrassed myself, just a little, in my effusive joy at seeing him again. I'm beginning to think there's such a thing as too much hugging; and another set of friends, citric again, have brought forth more of the next gen. All is good in the world.

Work has been... interesting. Our obsession with times continues, and has provoked at least one thing I never thought I'd see - management rolling their sleeves up and helping out. Pushing beds, no less. My annual assessment draws near, and as ever, my non-clinical portfolio is a bit anemic. We'll see.... I get to combine the 'hearing' with a string of nights, so stay tuned to see if I get to keep my job.

Anicteric

My life outside medicine continues to throw very few exciting or memorable stories. Who'd have thought one man's quest to be a bit more domesticated would be so dull?

This weekend allowed me a bit more Lemon exposure. It's hard to define the Lemons, as they are an eclectic bunch. The common denominator, I guess, is that they are all good people, and, almost unfailingly, supremely dedicated hedonists. I arrived on the citric fringe what seems like only yesterday, but was in fact four or more years ago. I hate the way that increasingly happens, but there you go.

My association is through my best friend, an old partner in crime from my school days, who has since quit this sceptred isle for sunnier climes. On Sunday, I finally located the Boat Lemons, not a million miles away from my house. In grand tradition, the bulk of them had extended their Saturday night through until Sunday. Usually, when I have begun the race with them, my bolt is long shot by now. Their endurance, and capacity for booze, is impressive.

Sadly, they were less well equipped for coffee. Undeterred, we set about constructing a percolator / filter. By MacGyvering a bit of sling (triangular bandage), some wool gauze, part of an egg carton, and the end of a Coke bottle, we were actually able to make coffee.

Our first batch did resemble brown water, it has to be said. But, we made coffee. Only took a few hours, but as my partner in coffee reminded me - 'It's the journey, not the destination'.

Sadly, this soiree marked the departure of another pair of Lemons, again for sunnier climes. Now, I know I've only known this pair for a few years, and that it gives us an excuse to go visit, and that they'll be back, etc, etc... However, this pair are among the friendliest, most generous people it has ever been my pleasure to know. I've probably met them less than a dozen times all told, by my life was a little bit better for it, and I'm worried it'll be a little bit poorer now they ain't around.

The Fourth, The Fifth, The Minor Fall, The Major Lift

I am positively wrecked.

There is almost nothing left of my essence, my being. I have left it all in Luton. This is what you get for partying with Lemons. A generally good night, with all too much beer drunk; the usual suspects were there, falling away at regular intervals, until the hard core remained at nine a.m. this morning. This was my time to bow out, but (?worryingly) many Lemons were just getting their second wind.

I am too old for this sort of thing; mostly.

My ex-beloved was there; and it was good to see her. Too good really; another reason to hate my job.

On a lighter note, ER is back on the TV. I can, once again, get my fix. My quest to watch them all again goes on; Santa brought me seasons 8 and 9... but they're all too soon gone.

A good friend of mine has been having a hard time of it of late. As usual, I don't feel at liberty to divulge why. Pregnancy related complications. I hate being on the outside. As I understand it, she and bubs are doing better now, but nothing is written in stone...

More burnout. One of the tricks I use to insulate myself from the psych-trauma of seeing how shit life can be is to try to disconnect; to de-empathise where possible. I think it makes me a little deader inside, but I discovered, when working on ITU, that I'm not strong enough to do it any other way.

I was confronted with a patient going South, whose background was very similar to my friend's. It suddenly became very difficult to be objective, to do my job. Let my feelings get in the way. The patient got the right treatment; in actual fact, the correct diagnosis was achieved by one of my SHOs.

But it wouldn't normally get to me.

Burnout...

She Comes In Colours Ev'rywhere

Or... "Flail of The Century"

No medical gib follows. Be warned and stop now if you have no interest in what I got up to in a field this weekend.

Pictures to follow - as usual I took a very expensive camera, and no pics. But plenty of others did, and with luck, thru the magic of digital media...

So, it was the wedding of one of greatest friends this weekend. In fairness, of two of my friends, but the Groom I have known for 20 years, and we've been through a lot of 'formative' shit together (I certainly wouldn't have been a doctor without him), and his fiance - now wife! - I have only known a few years, so although I consider her a dear friend, it is perhaps not the same thing. Whatever.

Thursday saw me at a dance / drama performance, a first for me. A slightly alien media to me. It was interesting, and a good evening, for a variety of reasons. Maybe it could have, or should have gone better. Only time will tell. Anyway, Friday found me pretty pleased with myself. Festivities were due to kick off on Saturday, but as the whole thing was essentially being held in a field (a place called ColdBlow Farm, which I can highly recommend), quite a lot of organisational flail was required. As Best Man, I was in the frame... so after a late night of modern dance / drama, I roused myself from my pit and packed up to deploy to a field in Kent.

My friend has never been even remotely conventional, so this was a fancy dress affair. As I may have mentioned, I was to be Puck. Puck is an interesting character, but not easy to define in terms of costume. I had found a production where Puck was dressed in red furry trousers and blue body paint. This was I had intended to go with, but singularly failed to find any red furry material, and lack the required Adonis like figure to make my torso my costume. Instead I cobbled some black furry trousers together, and paired it with a ruffled shirt, gold cravat and coloured waistcoat. Topped off with pointy ears, horns and some greenery, I just about passed muster. Still, at least I wasn't Bottom.

Lunchtime on Friday found me and the Groom alone on the Farm, drinking beer and shooting the shit. We were supposed to be erecting a marquee, but there was, inevitably, a delay. At some stage, about three beers in, I acquired my first injury of the event. Clinically this appears to be a mild ankle sprain - the bruising and swelling are minimal, but it gave me something to moan about. Eventually the Marquee and PA arrived, and we set everything up. A few pioneers were arriving by this stage, and it was agreed that we'd all have a quiet one, in honour of the big day on the morrow. The best laid plans...

The next morning saw a few die hards drinking on through, and Bottom (the other best man, resplendent in full ears, and a magnificent tail) pinning a nervous groom into his costume of Oberon. We left good and early, since there is always great flail potential in anything involving these guys. Lemons may get the job done, but sometimes it's hard work getting there.

We arrived at the Registry Office in good time, which was handy, as on our arrival, Oberon announced that he'd left the music behind. Despite being accompanied by Wonder Woman, and Zorro, it was left to me to make a madcap dash back to the farm. CD in hand, if you were in Maidstone this weekend, you might have seen a hairy legged hobgoblin scampering breathlessly through the churchyard adjacent to the Archbishop's Palace. 'Twas indeed I. When I got there, with literally minutes to spare, all I could see were regular getting married folks. There followed about a minute of panic while I wondered whether I'd taken a wrong turning, and weighed up the pros and cons of gate crashing a straight laced wedding dressed as Puck, when fortunately I saw our crowd of freaks, flying the flag... and the freak flag flew proper high over Maidstone - I don't think the Registrar had seen the like before, as Oberon and Tatania, Prospero and Queen Mab, Wonder Woman and Zorro, and even the Jolly Green Giant (ho! ho! ho!) all crammed in to celebrate . Fucking brilliant. The Bride and Groom exited to the sounds of Steppenwolf, and were driven away in a Black Pontiac Trans Am. (If this means nothing to you, you're too young)

The Reception was a blast. Fancy dress is indeed hilarious. The weather wasn't brilliant, but wasn't dreadful either. Speeches went off with only a little flail, and much fun was had engaging in jousting and Maypole based antics. Some of our friends had come as the Three Musketeers (which, incidentally, always seems a misnomer to me, as they were renowned for their swordplay, not their musketry) which gave me some concern as they were all wielding proper swords. Sure enough, one of them stabbed me in the foot (injury number 2) and then sat on me(black eye, injury number 3).

Suffice to say plenty of fun was had by all, especially me, in a most unexpected way. Funny how things seem to come in patches, complicating stuff unnecessarily. Or maybe it's me that complicates things. Anyway; it was good.

The next morning was a bit like a scene from Morning of the Living Dead, and the obligatory prank was played on Spuds, by hiding his car in the field. And now, we've all gone our separate ways, and I just about feel human again. My fourth injury appears to be classic tenosynivitis, of my left great toe extensors. Part of me is in thrall of the classic signs, most of me wishes it wasn't so fucking painful.

Anyway - Tatania, Oberon, Bottom, Jolly Green Giant, Michael Knight (and Kitt) and all the others, Lemon and non-citric alike. I salute you all. We may get older, but damn, we still know how to burn one down. (although we haven't worked out how to recover afterwards)