30 DSC Day 6

6: Song That Reminds You Of Somewhere.

Another relatively easy one. I love this song, and will never forget where I was when I first heard it. FWIW, it also reminds me of a person and an event...still

I might add, I was listening to it, so the big man's entrance took me completely by surprise...

Best vs Worst

No further rigors, no idea what the source was. Slightly worried I'm harbouring something nasty... but declined investigation so I guess I have to lie in my own bed.

Increasingly find myself gripped by malaise, and dark feelings of hopelessness, which is somewhat self-indulgant considering my situation versus how it could be.

Anyway, blame that for this post.

In general, I have a low opinion of humanity. Essentially, I don't think we're as far removed from the beasts as we like to think we are. Left to our own devices, I think most people will happily crap on their fellow man, if it's to their own advantage.

Altruism, generosity seem to me to be the exception.

La Belle Fille firmly believed quite the opposite; she does have a bright shining soul though. She may be right.

I suspect my job biases me.

Certainly LBF rarely encounters stuff like this: I was wary of telling this story, because it's sensitive, but I've seen it reported in the Daily Mail, which I think makes it common domain.

A young man died recently, and he probably didn't have to. Maybe it was his time, but he was awful young. He fell into a pond. The Mail reports he had an history of blackouts; I heard seizures. Semantics, really. If you were very uncharitable, you could argue someone with that history should probably stay away from unfenced bodies of water unsupervised. I assume he was alone.

I could be wrong.

Anyway, he fell in the pond, and was unable to get himself out, likely because he was unconscious. It took 25 minutes to get him out. No-one would go in after him.

The Mail is quick to chastise the EMS, whose bosses won't let them go in, in situations like this.

But someone called the ambulance. People stood about and watched. No-one, no-one even tried to get him out.

Stood and watched him die.

Music Nazi recommends Eccentric Soul: The Prix Label.

Sticking With You

Continuing the theme of the weekend...

Saturday was perhaps most notable for our avoidance of a cheese and wine party, a location where LBF would normally be found waxing lyrical about the virtue of cheese and its superiority over all other foodstuffs.

This casual truanting did afford us the opportunity to meet GermanyJones in the pub. Germany is another of LBF's amigos, and is a lively lassie, with more artistic drive and imagination in her little finger than I possess in my entire flabby frame.

Our conversation ranged from comparing Ross Kemp to PacMan (a dead ringer, apparently) to the grand plan to track down and interview 12 men from around the world who think they are the risen Jesus.

I can't reveal more details, as it's still a work in progress, but you heard it here first. A GermanyJones production

Prohibition Jazz

An unusual weekend.

The ongoing soap opera that is my own, and other people's lives continued. Spent the bulk of the weekend with LBF, work ahving intervened in our efforts to atend the weekend Lemon Wedding

First we went to see The Original Rabbit's Foot Spasm Band, who play prohibition jazz. This is the haunt of JazzMan, who seems unable to do right by Schlingo. Of course, that's my definition of right, and trying to throw two people together because YOU think it'll work is potentially fraught.

It is a shame tho', because Schlingo is aces, and JazzMan seems like a nice fella, barring this one thing.

Anyway, that's their business, not ours.

As for the jazz, they're excellent, and much grooving was done, wheels greased with joyous lager, and the stench of gin and sympathy.

I was somewhat surprised by the youth of the crowd, but I suppose the hepcats that shook their bad things to jazz in the 20s and 30s were young 'uns, so there's no reason why they shouldn't be this time around.

Anyway, I commend them to you.

No Help Required

While out and about on the Streets of LBFville, we were hailed by a couple of teens, supporting a third, semi-conscious, mate. They wanted help getting him up, so they could get him home. This is, in itself, admirable.

The mood was spoiled somewhat when they stopped worrying about him, and started begging for ciggies when we went over.

Info was fairly sparse, but it was apparent he had drunk ' a lot', and was sparko. Try as I might, I couldn't raise a peep out of him. Getting him home seemed increasingly ambitious.

As always in situations like this, a crowd gathered.They were all drunk too, and not really a great help.

By this time, I was making some progress at the head end, and he was beginning to respond to my less than gentle ministrations.

Suddenly home didn't seem such a far off dream after all.

I tried to engage his friends in this idea, but, the crowd told me, an ambulance had been called.

"Don't worry", they said, pointing to one of their number, "he's a first year medical student, at Oxford"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. The 'casualty' was breathing well, and beginning to stir; an ambulance was en-route, and I had been trumped.

I left them to it.

Valentino

Another Valentine's passed.

The cynic in me says this is really just a great money spinner for jewellers / gift manufacturers / card makers etc, but it is undenisably nice to remind someone how much they mean to you.

I had planned a little break for LBF and I, but things don't always break the way you want to. Firstly I couldn't get the time off work, or at least not without really making some enemies, which is never a good idea. Then I contrived not to see the folks for a while, and Pa Shroom's birthday falls right after Hallmark card day, so I kindof had to hook up with them...

Anyway, I managed to spend some time with LBF and not fuck up the presents I bought for her. We also saw the film Valentine's Day which was... interesting.

It may not have been the most romantic of weekends, but I think it was a good one.

iFlail

La Belle Fille has made the jump to the iPhone. (Other phones are available) As with all new tech, there were a few teething problems.

So, shortly after she signed up for it, and whipped it out of it's box, I received a phone call. This one consisted of a few plaintive "hello"s by both parties, and her hanging up. Another call followed, which she hung up as soon as I answered. Then another, which consisted of LBF simply uttering the word: 'bollocks'.

After a few more abortive efforts, it became apparent that she was struggling with the volume controls.

A text followed, asking me to call her, to check that her phone was working. This call passed off without incident, barring much laughter in the background at her end.

The cause: having taken the phone back, and proclaimed it defunct, the phone guy had taken it from her, examined it and then removed the plastic 'screen protector' see-thru label that had been neatly, invisibly obscuring the earpiece of her new, shiny piece of tech.

Bleak, Bleak, Bleak.... Happy

Another flying visit to La Belle Fille.

We went to see The Road, an unremittingly bleak piece, until the very end. I haven't read the book, but can't help but wonder if the (admittedly only slightly) upbeat ending was influenced by Hollywood.

Or am I just too cynical?

High Days And Holidays

Spent the weekend feeling a bit sorry for myself, while trying to have fun with LBF. Sick role avoidance. She had schoolwork to do - for those of you that think teachers have it easy, don't forget the marking. Oh, the humanity.

Anyway, worksheets planned, books checked, we deployed to the supermarket where I fulfilled my stereotype by grumbling and generally acting like a 2 year old. LBF was very tolerant, as usual.

We then whiled away a few happy hours watching a programme called 'Watch Me Showing Off', or 'If I Bend Over You Can See What I Had For Breakfast', or something. There was dancing in it, anyway, but I lost the thread when one of the first dancers elected to wear a pair of hotpants so small they barely deserved the name.

Then Schlingo appeared, just in time for a new horror of a dating programme on ITV, unleashing a volley of commentary so sharply honest regarding the contestants, I was in danger of soiling myself laughing.

And then to pub. Beer was drunk, and I didn't vomit, which you'd normally think ought not to count as an achievement, but the Quad-Cocktail I'm on makes it a bit more challenging. I briefly tried my hand at limbo, but aren't as good at it as I remember. Go figure.

Sadly, at the end of the evening, there was no chicken. Although considering the relationship I have with my gut at the mo', this may have been for the best.

The next day was LBF's Poppa's birthday. A grand spread, much laughter. Good time had by all. LBF was moderately put out, when I suggested she likes the art of conversation. The spark for this perhaps unwise observation was her unleashing a comment, a propos of nothing, about her mum vomiting on her dad. She took slightly against me when I passed comment, remarking that we spent many comfortable silences together.

'Only', quipped I, 'when you're asleep'

While this was not massively popular on the LBF side of the car, my point was slightly proven when, on the return journey, she tried for comfortable silence, and fell asleep.

She may just be perfect.

Lazy Sunday Afternoons

So, after agreeing to work Saturday, then quietly grumbling about it under my breath, like a passive aggressive chimp, I tripped up to La Maison Belle Fille. I wasn't much use Saturday evening, barely able to stay awake for dinner, and frankly I'm not sure I was much better Sunday, but at least it was more fun.

We schlepped down to a local pub for lunchtime, to sample their sandwiches, which LBF had described as 'amazing', a term she is fond of. They weren't bad after all, but I'm not sure they were amazing. Still, one man's meat, and all that...

We picked up Schlingo on the way. She is always good company, being as prone as I am to outbursts of rage, and not afraid to speak her mind, which I respect greatly. Which made it all the more amusing when a phone call from her boss spooked her into accidentally answering the phone, then hiding it in her bag.

Ensconced in the pub, we turned our attention to the serious matter of the day: a game of Scrabble. The girls are Scrabble geniuses (genii?) so I tried to put them off by flooding the pub with smoke from the wood burning stove; on reflection this was always doomed to failure, and didn't endear me to the rest of the pub's denizens.

We were also joined by JazzMan, whom I like very much, tho' his and Schlingo's relationship is more complex than it should be, which is a shame.

Predictably, Scrabble was won by Schlingo, with LBF in close second, and Jazz and I bringing up the rear. Schlingo was gracious in victory, a fact I forgot when getting a question right during a game of Trivial Pursuit. It turns out no-one else like my 'victory dance'

Smug dance notwithstanding, a good time seemed to be had by all, although I probably drank a bit too much Guinness.

Ah, well; here's to more Sundays by the fire, with me struggling to make the word 'Cat'.

Stressors

I'm about to start a series of nights; I once again hope for some interesting tales to fill these pages. They may just be my last set of nights, too, so I'd better make the most of them. I should, in the next few weeks, evolve from Registrar to Consultant. (Attending, I think, in the language of my North American cousins)

it is what I have trained and worked for, for all these sodding years. I have sat numerous exams, and slowly seen my mind rareify to the exclusion of all else.

This transition, especially the final passing of my Fellowship exams, should have brought my stress levels down. And those of La Belle Fille. But that hasn't quite happened yet. I guess the effects haven't quite kicked in yet. Or, in the grand way of yin and yang, as my job stress goes down, so La Belle Fille's goes up.

Teaching is a thankless enough task at the best of times, but it seems that at LBF's institution, the grand strategy is to wring as much from your teachers as you can. It isn't enough to have them become good at teaching. They must continue to be good at teaching and absorb any amount of extra-work, curricular and extra-curricular. The parallels between hers and my job are fairly plain. To me, anyway.

But it makes it hard. LBF knows what is expected of her, but has the temerity to want a life outside the school, whereas the school seems to want to syphon all the life out of her.

Is it just her? I think not. Many teachers seem to pull long hours, far in contrast to the stereotypical idea we have of the short hours, and long holidays. Confusing the pupil with te teacher, it would seem.

I'm sure there are plenty of polymaths out there capable of handling all of this, and plenty of folks prepared to dedicate their every waking hour to what they do. I suspect many professions depend on people like that.

But shouldn't there be room for people who just want t be good at what they do?

Holding The Hot Potato

Being the right man, or woman, in the right place, at the right time... sometimes isn't a good thing.

When Shroom did a brief stint as a Plastic Surgeon, we rotated the days on call on a weekly basis, and the nights nightly. So this meant one week in 5 was pretty Hellish, but that the others allowed for concentrating on elective work, on learning.

But, if you'd just done the day on call and the night guy didn't show... well you were holding the bleep. Right person, right place, etc. No-one really tried very hard to find alternate cover, and damn the fact that it meant you pulling a day-night-day 36 hour shift.

I came in early today to cover a colleague's illness. Internal Cover. A stroke of genius by the NHS. The first thing Ol' Bosso said to me when he saw me concerned the fact that Ill Colleague was due on the weekend as well... he was quick to add that he wasn't telling me this to nudge me in the direction of covering... but: right man, right place.

I was supposed to see LBF this weekend, but not till Saturday arvo, so work can only rob us of a few hours this time.

And, at least this time I'm getting paid for carrying the potato.

(Actually, since I'm only doing Saturday, it's only half a potato really)

Zombie Apocalypse

More evidence, if any were needed, that Great Britain can't cope with snow. And, latterly, that every time I agree to swap shifts with someone, it goes tits up...

Tuesday, two days ago, I should have been on a day off, but had agreed to cover a shift for a colleague. It was the swing shift, 4pm until 1am.

By just after 6 it was snowing pretty heavily, but didn't seem to be settling. By about 8 it was lying thick on the ground, and the flail had begun. Cars were getting jammed on the roads, big and small, and even the Ambos were getting trapped. It rapidly became apparent that no-one who couldn't walk home was getting home.

This clearly included me.

The only upside being that if we couldn't get out, no-one could get in. Ambulances couldn't even back into the Bay, a distance of some 10 feet, up a risible slope, and for a while we either unloaded patients in the road, or relied on 4x4s pulling the Ambos into place.

Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, we ran out of food. Management did their bit and pitched in with a plate of sandwiches. Fortunately, saner minds prevailed and we ordered in pizza...

And then... the power went out. We were, I'm told, struck by lightening. Twice. All the lights went out on majors, and it was all very M*A*S*H - medicine by torchlight. It was at about this moment I was expecting the zombie apocalypse, but the only pallid figures wandering the corridors were the staff.

A few rooms were cleared, and we all bedded down. This was not the sexy night-time hospital orgy it might have been if my life were a film, or if I were not blessed with LBF.

The next day wasn't much better, although numbers were still down, and at least after a double shift the roads had been cleared enough to get me home.

It's still pretty icy out there, and we, as a country still don't really know what to do about it, so the upcoming weekend nights should be a giggle.

Giving Up

I'm trying to give up smoking, again; I don't really want to, but know I should. So I'll probably fail... but we'll see.

It's strange what we will give up, and what we won't, and our reasons behind it. We all make sacrifices of one type or another, and sometimes, I suppose I can't be alone in this, look back and wonder if it was all worthwhile. Have other people made the same choices as I have? Have they had too? Or did they just make better ones?

I don't know. I know how I have justified the choices I have made to myself, and they always made sense at the time, but sometimes, in the dark, alone, 10 years down the line... I'm not so sure.

Morecheerfully, had a grand old dinne with LBF last night, and managed not to act like a twat. The next big choices to make will have to be made together, which represents a departure for me.

Wish me luck.

Parking Spaces

LBF is often enquiring after her character. I'm not sure she'll thank me for this...

Part of exciting lives dictates that we occasionally go to the Supermarket. On our last visit, we were confronted by a Pay-and-Display car park. Having no change, we elected to fight the power, defy the man and park without paying. Ever fearful of parking Nazis, I stayed with the car, while LBF shopped. (Yes, that might be the 1950s calling)

On returning, arms laden with produce, LBF pressed a 50p coin into my palm, not in an attempt to press gang me, but for the Pay-and-Display machine. She looked pleased with herself, I puzzled.

She later explained she thought we had to buy a ticket, in case someone came round to check...

(She doesn't drive a car)

Light Relief

LBF's in Wales, and I'm at work. The very definition of a modern relationship.

I have some grim tales to share, but the talk of the Department this week is definitely the discovery in bay 10, of a very drunk woman attempting to relieve the chest pain of her, equally drunk, husband in an unusual way...

More to follow but till then:




And to think, some say he was the 3rd best guitarist in the Yardbirds

Entry Redacted

With satisfying timing, LBF contacted me today to express some concerns about the details included in the episode in which Schlingo made her debut...

I should therefore make it perfectly clear that I know teachers, of all varieties are highly skilled, overworked, underpaid pillars of society. Their work is much more than colouring in shapes.


Sometimes they stick the shapes on bits of card afterward.

Introducing....

Women are... interesting... make of this what you will.

When I first wrote about LBF here, she phoned me up to complain; not unreasonable, you might think, since I hadn't let her know she was going to feature, and some folks don't want their comings and goings splashed on the 'net. However, this is, after all, the ramblings of a grumpy old man, not The New York Times, and mostly anonymous(-ish), so one might argue few people would either see it or recognise her.

So, her entry was removed.

It seems that the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about, and LBF now regularly mentions, just in passing that her character has been disappointingly quiet recently.

Now it seems I have to expand her character and provide more back story.

LBF need more companions to keep her company when she's not having adventures with me.

And so I have the pleasure of introducing Schlingo, LBF's comrade in arms. She, too, is a teacher, and lives downstairs from LBF. She teaches younger kids than LBF, and I suspect they both think their job is a little bit harder than the other's.

I think its all basically colouring in shapes.

(This may not be the kind of storyline Schlingo was hoping for...)

Anyway, in case you were thinking Schlingo is a kind of two dimensional charactwer I've invented, to give her depth, it's worth noting she's dating JazzMan, who comes from the 1930s; or 1950s, depending on who you ask. She also once described yet another of LBF's friends as looking like 'an angry blue smartie', and suggested that Susan Boyle looked like a 'haunted tree', proving at a stroke that she has a far greater gift for language and imagery than I could ever hope to.

Anyway, she wanted in to this merry soap opera, so here she is.

Welcome aboard, Schlingo.

Coming Soon...

By popular demand, more on the adventures of LBF, and a new character to grace the soap opera that is Shroom's life.

Good From Afar...

I t has been suggested to me that I should be writing more, and indeed, more about certain subjects; I surely agree that to keep my part in our covenant, dear reader, I should be writing more. Writing under duress, however, worries me; I worry that my output will resemble drivel more than usual. Duress, is probably too strong a word, and I certainly need the prodding.

Well I'll try.

I had something I wanted to pitch about close ups. Real and figurative. La Belle Fille shouldtake particular note that this an example of me thinking out loud in general terms, and not talking about specifics.

I had ben struck by how many things in modern life look very shiny, or nice, or fun, until you see them close up, until you see their faults writ large. Everything, everybody has faults, but I fear modern life conditions us to expect the impossible, that everyting should be blemish-free.

Maybe I'm just disappointed in myself for buying into it.

Once again, this is just aimless generality. I think its important that we should all be aware of that.