Mother has had fish for tea. As I looked longingly at it, hoping for a morsel or two, she pointed out that I really shouldn’t like fish. I hate getting wet. How am I going to catch one if I’m not prepared to submerge meself?
Then again, I like chicken but you don’t see me running around after one of them do you…….
I also like the yoghurty things you get from Tesco, but as I am like the Queen and don’t carry any money (no pockets in the coat), I don’t buy them for meself either.
Keep your fish. You will need all the calories you can get if you are going to continue to be my servant.
Downton Abbey eat your heart out…….
Brother in law has had a new car with the final letters on the number plate being WMD.
So that’s where they were. Tony Blair spent a fortune committing us to a war in Iraq looking for Weapons of Mass Destruction. He thought they were nuclear devices, turns out it was a 4 x 4 in the North Midlands…..
Brother in law has already had one prang in it (approximately 7 days after getting it). Perhaps this is the path to world domination.
One car at a time……
Mother’s new car came on Wednesday and already the boot is full of all the accoutrements associated with a district nurse. Bandages, catheters, syringes, Febreze…..the latter being especially important when hygiene and domestic fragrance doesn’t quite reach Mother’s L’Occitane Lavender hand wash and Yankee Candle standards. Not that she’s being judgemental of course. Just very easily olfactorially challenged (just made up a word there).
The powers that be have declared that district nurses should carry a ‘hand washing’ bag. This is in addition to the catheter bag, injection bag, dressing bag, general all purpose doesn’t really fit into any other category bag and the half ton of paperwork necessary to keep the management happy.
Mother was six feet tall when she started this job……by the time she retires she’ll be able to apply for a job as Grumpy in the seven dwarfs….
Uncle Alex is doing this course which uses real people to act as ‘patients’ to enable the students to practice their physical examination skills. Last week this entailed one of these ‘actors’ flopping out his meat and two veg to be tampered with by nine different students. Presumably he took this gig because he wasn’t good enough for Shakespeare.
Mine doesn’t flop. It’s hidden away. Even if it did regularly present itself you couldn’t pay me enough……
Adds a whole new meaning to being on the fiddle though…..
So, GPs are to be asked to open late in the week and during weekends. They aren’t too happy about it, probably because it will cut down on their private time (aka the golf course will most likely be closed by the time they clock off).
Mother, cynic that she is, wonders if there will be a huge influx of practice nurses, nurse practitioners and physician associates into general practice, who will be employed to work the extra hours so the GP can go home. Whilst accepting that these individuals are wonderfully skilled and deserve their place in the NHS family she does wonder if Joe Public might think they were getting the monkey when they expected the organ grinder…..
Mother should really stop eating all those bananas🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒
Mother is now in a rather enviable position – every time she gives a drug, it’s expiration date comes way after she will have shuffled away from the NHS on the road to bliss known as retirement. And doesn’t she let everybody know it……
She is now beginning to notice other things which fall into the post retirement category – the end of the car lease agreement (2017), the tin of tuna in the back of our cupboard – I could go on but you will probably sleep well enough tonight without having an inventory of our kitchen.
Only 778 days to go until she is released from her 33 year sentence.
You get less for murder……..
Granny now says that she cannot lift her leg high enough up to put it into bed. This is all the fault of the GP who examined her yesterday, as when he moved her leg he made it worse. This is probably a time when a telephone consultation would have worked, as all Granny really wanted was a referral to OT, but she insisted on seeing a doctor. An obvious case of ‘be careful what you wish for’. She is even more miffed because he wouldn’t prescribe another type of painkiller. He probably thought that he would save the NHS a fortune because she wouldn’t take the bloody things if she had them…
Mother thinks that a high-low bed is now called for, although judging by the success(!) of the reclining chair, it wouldn’t get used much.
What is it they say about horses and water?…..