Jib Update

Car: Power steering fixed... suspension now making an unsettling noise

Cigs: None during the week, then cracked at the weekend Stag Do, and smoked 20

Running: Only Managed 3 miles

Taste: Still mired pre-1974

I'm A Mr, Too

Belligerent Shroom; Brief post; Apologies.

Nights have been and gone, surprisingly quietly. The only evidence they were ever there are a few straightened ankles, and the disruption to my body clock.

One of Shroom's good friends has found her life goin' a little bit sour. Through no fault of her own, but because one of her housemates lacks social integration skills. I can't pretend to be in his head, and it's true that every story has two sides, but he seems to have a crush, for want of a better word, on her. And is having trouble adjusting to the fact that his feelings are not reciprocated.

I know how that feels, so feel I can offer the following advice: tough shit, Paddy.

Life is full of disappointment; how we deal with it is one of the ways in which we measure ourselves. There will always be things we can't have, people we think we love who don't love us back. And of course it hurts. Nothing is more frustrating than unrequited 'love'; I've been there more times than I care to remember - witness 'The Girl', who used the word 'horrified' to describe her thoughts on the matter; my feelings for her have been put into perspective by La Belle Fille - which makes me a very lucky Shroom.

But if you're not so lucky? Suck it up, buddy. Acting like an arse doesn't do much for your stock.

Words may have to be exchanged.

(On a lighter note, and to see if you're still reading: 3 words - Kung Fu Panda. Or is that 2....)

I'm Sorry?

In trying to post more frequently, while lacking the intellectual prowess to hold forth in a meaningful way about the big stories of the day, one runs the risk of running short of inspiration.

While casting about, I elected to see from whence my visitors come...

Most unusual referrer goes to whomever elected to use Google Australia to answer the query 'How is knee fucking done?'.

I have no idea why you'd wanna know, or indeed how they ended up here.

Food for thought? Nights await, so maybe some more laughs to share tomorrow.

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.

Die Schlumpfen

Or, Why I Love Phil The Greek

Off this week, so no tales of derring do. Or flail.

However, I did hear it reported that, while at the Chelsea Flower Show, a member of the Royal Family engaged one of the gardeners / exhibitors by commenting, 'I like your fern'... to which the gardener offered that it wasn't in fact a fern, but some other plant.

'Didn't want a fucking lecture', came the reply, as the aforementioned Royal walked away.

Allegedly.

Buried Alive In The Blues

Another Monday after nights, another bout of insomnia.

I'm on an education day today, so non-clinical... supposed to be in work anyway, but since I've been awake all night (pacing, mostly) and the wonders of the Internet envelop my house, I've kinda taken an executive decision to stay at home. I imagine I'll get a bollicking for it, but what can ye do?

In fact I'm becoming mildly concerned about my inability to adjust from nights, which seems to be getting worse weekly, but not sure what i can do, without resorting to pills - either sleepers to send me into the arms of Morpheus, or some sort of upper to get me goin' in the morning. I am reluctant to go down this road... so i guess I'll just have to slug it out. Ain't that so?

(Etymology note - I think 'ain't' dates from early 18th Century English, exported to the Americas. I have it in mind that it was used throughout the classes until popularised by e.g Dickens in the 19th Century, and vulgarised...)

The Department continues busy... we move onward, ever onward and upward. BBP has suggested we're getting extra staff, footprint and cash. I'll believe it when I see it. On a personal note, I need to overcome my Resus addiction. My minors experience is suffering. But I can't help it... I am, unashamedly, an adrenaline junkie.

Sometimes, it seems genuinely hard to get out; but I guess that's always the way of addiction. I need to trust the SHOs a bit more.

Achieved highs and lows last week:

Highs

---Having staff ask me for 'second opinions' on my colleagues cases... while it rankles a bit - it is a bit disrespectful - it at least means they trust me, which helps my psyche at a time when I'm feeling like my ability is being called into question.

---Treating a young lad presenting de novo in DKA, and having him give me a sticker to say thanks. (It read 'Please hug me, I've been brave'. No-one hugged me. They knew I hadn't really been brave)

Lows

--- Accidentally squirting ethyl chloride into the eye of one of my SHOs. It's all funny until someone gets hurt... how right they are. Sorry

---Blowing my top in a most childish manner. Shouting at all and sundry ain't cool, and i think I'm lucky enough to have enough credit at the Nurse Bank that they have accepted my apology. Maybe. Sorry, again.

I also had a pretty good run personally. For the record, she ain't in Cleveland. That was just an example, back-linking to a previous post. I do have an old friend in Cleveland, a high-falutin' gas-passer, but fate has seen fit to throw me together with someone a lot closer.

They know who they are, and that's pretty much all I can say, really.

Le silence du p'tit singe.

The Obvious Child

Frankly, I feel bloody awful.

It's my own fault.

Back at work, which generally cheered me up. This is sad; but still. However, with work comes my bad posture backache. Resus was frantic.

To relieve my backache - 2 co-codamol (probably tylenol to my N American cousins)

The co-codamol gives me a headache - oh! the irony

To relieve my headache - 2 aspirin

The aspirin gives me dyspepsia and nausea. My headache ignores the aspirin, and joins forces with my backache, which is enjoying a renaissance as the co-codamol wears off.

I am special.

Easter weekend served to remind me how few of us singletons there are left. Me and an old friend hooked up for a few beers; we could not find anyone else. All coupled up, all doing couply things. Jimbo and I descended on the Barfly in Camden. He sold me on a band called Ruby (or Ruby's, or Rubies, or something) They sounded melodic, anyway.

Instead we were entertained by the shouty warblings of an Italian emo-punk outfit. The band weren't too bad, but the singer was just a wee bit much for me. They also went to the trouble of having a violinist alongside the Guitars, Bass and Drums. Unsurprisingly, couldn't hear him much.

The singer spat in his face, tho', which was nice. He also spent much time clawing theatrically at his chest. Not quite carving pain into your arm with a broken bottle, but they're still finding their way, I guess. Brought their own fans / groupies, too, which was very considerate.

Next were Proxy. Different, and yet still rubbish. Sorry lads.

Anyway, it was good to quaff Guinness and shoot the shit. Felt slightly old, mind...

Never saw any variety of precious stone

Whiter Shade Of Pale

First:

STOP whatever you are doing. (Actually, since that'll be reading this, wait till you've finished the paragraph). Immediately find yourself a copy of King Curtis Live at Fillmore West. Press play. Your life is now immeasurably better. Trust me. Go on. Do it. Now. Then come back. I'll be waiting.

See: Told you so...

Not much to report. What follows is mostly non-medical jib, so feel free to sign out and tune in for my next installment of medical derring-do.

Nights were unbusy, which is unusual. Managers are prowling around, trying to avoid any breach, at any cost, in the final push for Foundation status (ein, zwei, ein, zwei, build an empire...). We are becoming even more unpopular throughout the hospital. It's just as well that we don't care.

Well, to be honest, I do care. The ED has ever been the sick man of the Hospital. Fine. But now our reputation for slipshod work, hasty workups and premature referrals is becoming deserved. Which, frankly, sucks balls.

In other news, I'm back to being insomniac again. A long series of lates and then nights has left my brain refusing to fall asleep until six a.m. I wouldn't mind s much if I could do something productive with the time. But I feel exhausted, so end up spending hours trying to sleep. I'm on a random day shift today and tomorrow, before re-embarking my mission to work only late shifts this month. Something's gotta give.

Lastly, in case you were wondering, I have discovered the worst cup of coffee, in the Universe. My standards are pretty low anyway. My North American cousins sneer laconically at me when it comes to my appraisal of coffee. What seems like perfectly reasonable java to me, barely classes as dishwater to them.

So for me to dislike coffee is rare. While a student, I drank revision specials that sent me into SVT, but kept me awake for two weeks prior to my second year exams. When I was on the House, I'd cane cold coffee to perk up at night. Hell, I'd even mainline freeze-dried granules. Discerning, I am not. I jive on caffeine.

However, Burger King supplied me with the worst cup of coffee I have ever come across. Yes, Burger King. Now I say it out loud, I'm not sure why I was surprised by this. But seriously; it was shit.

Late Night Ramblings

So, I'm on health kick (again). Not know, you understand. Now I'm listening to Miles Davis and John Coltrane, while drinking scotch and smoking cigarettes.

But, I'm trying (again) to get off the fags. Patches and gum have proved ineffective in the past, tho I suspect that has more to do with my lack of willpower. I'm currently on Zyban (buproprion) and am hoping this will compensate for my lack of will power, while not turning me yellow or making me commit suicide.

So, for the first few weeks, I have to keep smoking to give the drugs a chance to kick in. This has coincided with me having time off, so I've had no excuse not to smoke. Can I smoke? Like a fiend I can. (Apologies to Bill Hicks' estate)

What I have started doing again, is going to the gym. Frustratingly, I do feel better after a run. Maybe there is something in endorphins, after all. I find my gym vaguely amusing. Or rather, the people there, mostly because I find it difficult to take them seriously. I imagine they think the same of me, especially since I'm so vain I'm always checking myself out in the full length mirrors (well I haven't got one at home), and have discovered the fun I can have blow drying my hair. (Can you say bouffant?)

My other new trick is forgetting bits of my kit. In the last week, I have left 2 pairs of trainers behind. The club's lost property policy is to sweep it up and throw it away. The first pair of trainers wasn't too much of a loss - they were old, smelled funny, and probably had body fluids deep in their fundament. The second pair, bought to replace the first, natch, lasted two visits before I forgot 'em. Actually I'm not too upset. I was beginning to dislike the look of them. They cost me £20, which is a pain, but I actually consider it small beans in trainer terms.

I have recently started reading Mousie's blog. I commend it. She thinks the same way I do, and expresses things I wish I'd thought of far more eloquently. I think I'd like working with Mousie.

I recommend, especially :

Steep Learning Curve I and II

This is My Life

Things I Hate

The first two are serious, the last light hearted. I really loved the things I hate post. I get good vibes from Mousie.

I'm concerned I'm coming across a bit like a Mouse Stalker... sorry, but it's good to find kindred spirits out here.

Anyway, I'm on a 5 night stretch from tomorrow, so hope to have some tales to tell.

Seven Things Meme

The Seven Things

I've been tagged by Chrysalis Angel—my Angel of The North.

7 weird/random things about me

Here are the rules: Link to the person (i.e. Angel) who tagged you.



Post the rules on your blog:



Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself on your blog.



Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.



Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Well, I'll try...

1. I firmly believe that God (or the Devil) is in the details. Especially in music, and often have a favourite bass line / drum fill etc in a song. (For example, Billy Preston's keyboards in Get Back, the little bass run toward the end of Son of a Preacher Man, the horns in Hazey Jane II...)

2. I am more sentimental than I would like to let on, and can usually be found carrying mementos of absent friends in my pocket.

3. My 3 favourite American Football players are Lary Csonka, Fran Tarkenton and Dan Marino.

4. I am becoming increasingly obsessed with the Napoleonic Wars.

5. I weigh exactly the same today as I did when I was 18; I'm not sure if this is a good thing, or not.

6. I cannot help but develop unusual favourites -for example: hernias (spighelion), bacterium (bacillus cereus, tho cytocapnophagia canemoris runs it a close second). I genuinely can't understand the looks I get when I tell other people this. You've gotta have favourites, haven't you? It's not like their my kids or anything?

7. I've been half a Best Man 3 times.

All in all, a bit lame... sorry. And because I'm such a curmudgeon, I'm not taggin' anyone else just yet. Maybe later.

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...

New For Old

Original, Done Straight


Redone, Not So Straight

Lucky That My Breasts Are Small And Humble

Almost forgot this. Pleased me immensely.

On Saturday, when visiting my friends in Kent, I spent the entire evening trying to get their 17 month old daughter to say 'botox'.

Almost got it, too; managed to get her to say 'bo' and 'tox', but couldn't quite get her to run the two together. Still, I was unreasonably pleased with meself.

Simple things, and all that....

If I Didn't Have Bad Luck...

Nope; managed about an hour tonight. Finally gave up at 4, and got up. Mean to try and do something useful, but difficult, because my brain is so fuzzy, and it's too early to do much noisy.



So... surfing



Found this, which I'm lovin'.

More Melancholia

There follows naught but non-medical jib. Those not interested in the maudlin naval gazing of a small fungus, best look away now.

I am in particularly bleak mood. There are, I'm sure, a number of reasons for his. There always are.

Whenever I feel like this, I get the urge to bloggin'. It often doesn't last, and I let it slide. I do not know if that's for the best or not. We may go some way to finding out in the next few minutes. Anything can happen in the next half hour?

A busy-ish weekend, but still so much to do. I spend a lot of time griping about the passing of time, and how old I feel. If you're older than me, that'll seem ludicrous. Younger... just wait. I feel it in my nights more than anything. I used to do whole weekends on call, Friday Morning to Monday Evening, with whatever sleep we could snatch. Actually, with two of us on the house, we'd be guaranteed at least one decent night's sleep, so it wasn't bad at all. Even a few years ago, I could do four nights, or five, and g out at the end of them; lead a productive day, and fall blissfully asleep in synch.

Now...

Two, or three, and I'm finished. Worked Wednesday and Thursday; tried to stay up Friday, but fell asleep. Managed a few hours then dragged meself out to see The Girl's play. An ambitious reworking of Marat/Sade. Beautiful and talented. I continue intoxicated. Dinner afterwards with her folks who'd come to see the play too. A good sign? On balance, not, it would seem.

Anyway, I woke at 3. This often happens to me now after nights, but I could not get back to sleep. These days I interpret this as a symptom of low grade depression. I'm tired but my mind won't let me sleep, and I sit, or toss and turn, or pace. All miserably.

I eventually got back to sleep around 8, meaning to get up for 10, and go shopping. When I finally surfaced at 4, it was time to go see some old friends of mine. One bright moment in my fundament. More insomnia was to follow, but at least I managed shopping today.

I can only hope sleep will not evade me this evening. Work awaits, and that usually centres me.

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

Raising Sand, by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss.

Buy it. There's no reason why it should work; but it does.

You won't regret it. (If you do, our tastes are far enough removed that nothing I say makes sense. But you are missing out...)

Ball of Confusion

Frankly I'm a little confused.

Had a grand old weekend, although if I'm honest, was probably a bit too drunk and loud. And annoying. In fact I'm lucky my friends put up with me.

Regardless, we had gathered at a friend's house in the flat east of this grand country of ours. A pre Christmas Christmas party, if you will. I asked the girl if she wanted to come. I did this a while ago, while feeling pleased with myself, or optimistic, or high, or something. I didn't think she'd say yes.

But she did, and so I had contrived to spend 24 hours in her company. I'm not sure I distinguished myself, unless she really likes rude songs sung overly loudly. I was also reminded , if I needed reminding, that I am not a young man anymore. Mostly this reminder came in the form of trying too hard to compete in drinking games. Put in my place by a Mary's Man. The shame of it. Time to hang my drinking hat up next to my dancing shoes.

So I had had plans of an attempted wooing. These seem scuppered when I had remarked how we were an anti-cliche, in that we have dinner, she asks me in for coffee, and then... we drink coffee. Of course, says she. I'd be horrified if you tried to jump me.

Horrified.

Let that one roll around in your mouth for a while, if you will.

Horrified.

No, I can't put a positive spin on it either.

Fair enough, I guess that's cleared that up, anyway. Best behaviour, then.

It seemed to work well enough, although my friends were keen to establish us as a couple. I think it's the novelty factor for them. Drunkeness ensued, in case you hadn't gathered, and I sustained a small, but annoyingly painful head injury. Tried, and failed to stay up for the Hatton fight.

But the morning... the morning brought not only the mother of all hangovers, but an interesting sleeping arrangement. Not planned, I insist. Not since I heard the word horrified, anyway. And while all that went on was sleeping, it was, shall we say, very companionable. Was this my time; a test?

Horrified, you'll remember. Well, I didn't see evidence of horror, but I'm still as confused as a fella can be.

Can men and women be just friends? Even if they're very good friends?

I'm no clearer knowing, frankly.

Last business:
Historical note. I've just watched the Alamo. I'm sure the thing is riven with historical inaccuracies, but one in particular has got my goat. General Houston makes reference to Wellington choosing the battleground at Waterloo. He didn't. While he generally preferred to fight on his terms, on this occasion, Napoleon stole a march on him, humbugged him, if you will, and he had to fight there to stop Napoleon splitting the Allied armies. So there.

Music Nazi recommends What We Did On Our Holidays, by Fairport Convention. Do it. You know you need more folk in your life.

Untitled

Silly o'clock on a Saturday morning. I've been awake since two, staring at the clock. Bugger.

A fresh day awaits me, replete with all the detritus that Big Teaching Hospital can throw at me. Weekend days are a little like nights, inasmuch as you're pretty much on your own. And busy. My nights have thrown my body clock off, hence my nocturnal roamings.

Had dinner with her again last night. Am equally sure, in equal measures, that I love her, and that she doesn't love me. Still, her friendship enriches me. I feel better for it, even if my soul aches. I wonder if, deep down, I know this is for the best. I am around so little, and our paths so divergent, that I wonder if we could ever be anything more. Perhaps, on some level I prefer it this way. Unrequited love... All the ache, none of the mess? Maybe I'm not explaining it right; I'm hopeless.

I've basically spent the last two days asleep; hence nil to blog. I'm pleased to see my friend blogging; I think he'll find it helpful. Therapeutic. Some shit like that.

I almost saw an accident recently, which was odd. I was at a petrol station, buying petrol, as one does. As I was going to get back into my car, I heard a loud crack noise. Not quite a bang, or a crash, but you get the idea. By the time I turned around, it was all over. A car had wrapped itself around the signpost for the petrol station. I had real trouble getting my brain to accept that all was still. That it had all happened. Although I could rationalise that by the time I'd heard the noise, it was all over, so by the time I'd turned round all would be quiet, it didn't seem to make any sense.

Go figure.

They guys in the car were ok; I think even the car wasn't too beat up. But the physics of it confused me. Still does, I think.

Random? For sure, but what did you expect at 5 in the a.m?

Oh, and fucking Mo'vember is over, and the Mo is gone.

Ev'ry Tiger In The Zoo Loves Little Tiger Sue

I promised I'd do this.
And, if I wait 10 minutes, it'll be tomorrow, and that'll be my posting done.

So... It's still the weekend, which I'm pretty happy about. Having had a day off yesterday, today feels like Sunday, and there is quiet joy in knowing that tomorrow is Sunday...ahhhh.

I'm currently home from a quiet night out, a product of my increasing age, but now safe back inside my bunker in Shroom Manor, a nice glass of port beside me. Oh, for a cigarette. I met with a dear old friend of mine tonight, one of my oldest from MedSchool, with whom I've shared some truly good times, and some truly awful ones. For the purposes of my blog he will be known as the CherryPicker. We had a few stand-up fights I'd rather forget, but I think we've both mellowed a little, and are better for it.

Anyway, he lives more or less just 'round the corner from me, and I was his best man (or one of them), but we still don't manage to see each other enough. So tonight was nice; it's always good to catch up with him, and reminisce about the old days. I discovered another of our old friends had put him on to my blog (thanks Colossus), but he was still unable to find it... This is despite it being fairly well telegraphed to my friends, if they're interested. I mostly suspect they aren't, they find it too creepy, like reading my diary, or they find it too boring.

Anyway... I promised him I'd write him up. Done and done, my cherrypickin friend.

He tells me he's going to the best restaurant in the world next year. Some 5 star place near Barcelona, I think. They're only open 6 months, and only take reservations on one day, for a 24 course, 4 hour meal. I believe I have found a new definition of the word pretentious. Further details will surely follow.

Lastly, musings on the anonymous nature of this blog. Just because. This was only ever semi-anonymous; using a picture of me saw to that. But I never thought anyone I knew would actually read it. Since clinical stories are all amalgams, I figured that was the confidentiality side sewn up... but nonetheless, part of the point should be an honesty to it. Which is difficult if my friends are reading this. It encourages self censoring. Having made the decision to make this semi public to my friends, I guess I'll always hold some stuff back, especially where it concerns people I think might actually read it. It's only fair.

But where I'm concerned... I'll try to be as honest as I can be, however dull/uncomfortable/**insert other emotion** that might be.

I return you now to your regular programmes, while I return, lovelorn, to my port and late night horror film...