Motor Show

Some shots from todays motor show.

You know there are more to come...

 

 

NHS Again

In spite of all my careful planning I still had to rush up the road to the local wee hospital for the blood test.  Rushing, moving fater than slow, is not my thing.  However I made it with one minute to spare.

No Stasi here, instead a notice board proclaimed 'BLOOD TEST'  'Take a seat and you will be called!'

However, there was one man sitting at a desk, a nurse waiting beside him, and me.

The board ordered me to use the sanitiser and as I did so he demanded the form.  I struggled to produce this and the nurse took me into a cubicle and placed me on a well set up seat.

Puffing like a steam train pulling 40 coal wagons heading into Cowdenbeath I sat awaiting the needle.

After clenching my fist at the very nice capable nurse she produced sufficient blood to send to the lab.  I now await the result next week sometime.  All this for statins.

Another successful NHS story.  Once past the Stasi all goes well.

Now, somewhere in Essex, a young woman, and path labs are stuffed full of women who apparently find that sort of work interesting.  So many women in path labs as there was back in the 70's.  

The head of our path lab was a doctor based at the main hospital in Queens Square, she often spent much time sitting in the front hall with us awaiting her staff doing whatever she has asked for.

The 'Doctor on call' sign on her car was a bit of a lie really but nevertheless very useful for her.  No feminists then whining about top jobs, just women doing the job.  That doctor used to drive a small blue renault I think it was.  The matron, when she came fro Queen Square, arrived in her 1926 Sunbeam!  Here, while warning the wards she was about, I would admire the car for a moment with nher, allowing the wards to hide things, before she stormed off upstairs to ensure all went well.  The deputy matron, who had been a young nurse on a hospital ship at Dunkirk, and one of those was sunk, not hers, lived in a flat round the corner.  Her phone was connected to the switchboard and when she had a holiday another senior retired nurse would take her place.  The assistant matron never went away, both sat in the flat drinking sherry.  One night the call came from the flat.  

"Can you tell me the time?" 

"It is just after 12," I replied.

"Twelve noon or twelve midnight?" came the question.

"Midnight," said I.

"Thank you," and the line went dead.

Thanks were then offered that these two never did any real nursing any more...

 

Soup

I have just made soup.  As I walked away, leaving the pot steaming gently for a while, I browsed the catastrophe in the kitchen.  Where did all that lot come from?  How can such a small space contain so much mess?  The above cartoon, found on facebook today, came to mind.  'Cheney' sums up the mess left after an hour or two of me attempting something in a kitchen.  Lentils, tins of various beans, sauces and whatever else was lying around all get thrown in unceremoniously, and behind them lies a wake of empty, soiled tins, dishes, cutlery, empty unrecyclable plastic packets, and drops of various coloured stuff lying everywhere.  Where does it come from?  I was so sure I was being careful.  

Anyway, the mess is brewing behind me slowly, the actual soup mess I mean, the rest of the mess has been cleared away, and now I wish to lie down for an hour!  I met a young lad who belongs to the local Air Training Corps.  He wishes to join the army and become a cook, he must be mad!  That's all I can say.  It is bad enough cooking here, imagine what it is like out in the field, any field?  Tsk!

I suspect my soup will taste like all the others I have concocted, something similar to the mud so beloved of the 'our boys' in Flanders fields. 

NHS Stasi

 

Today I had another meeting with the Stasi!

They had left a message to make a date with the doctor who wished to see me.  So, reluctantly I called at just after 8 am this morning.  Soon, after a long detailed explanation of who I called, how to deal with Covid, and one or two other points I was told to hold and given the music.  Early in the morning I do not wish to hear the overture to a rousing opera, something gentle and soothing, especially as I was then told I was 24th in the queue! 
I held.

The message was repeated

I held.

All this time I realised I was paying for this and minutes were passing at the most expensive time of the day.   

I held.

A message about something else (I forget what) came and went.

The music continued.

I held.

Having heard the music, the intro message three times, the forgotten, urgent, message three times and began to dislike the opera even though I could not remember who the composer was and then I was told I was in 2nd place.

I held.

Music again.

Then the phone rang!

I held.

Eventually a woman come on and after explaining slowly what I wanted, I held while she searched her screen, I discovered the doctor would phone me, most likely because she did not want me bringing virii into the surgery.

I then awaiting her call.

An hour or so later she called, referred to last weeks notes, managed to avoid calling me a fat lump but decided I may need statins.  What?  Only old fat people take these!

As the young lady had spent seven years training I decided to accept her wishes.  This then meant collecting a form from the Stasi, how dangerous, and heading off to the hospital to have blood taken.

Naturally this cannot be done at the surgery unless it is urgent, I am not urgent.  

So this afternoon, hoping they would be in a happy mood I actually entered the building and  met the girls face to face, except for the mask and the perpex screen they hide behind.  

I explained, she looked bewildered, I explained in English, she muttered, her friends looked around or at their screens.  Soon a bot off paper was proferred to me, instructions given to call and make a date, and get out!

Back home I called.

"The Blood Taking department is closed."   

"However, you can book online at Mumble mumble, mumble."

I had to phone back to ensure I got the address right.

This however worked!

After faffing around I got registered, booked in for Friday at 3:10 pm, and the bloodsucker will remove an armfull and have the lab investigate what this reveals.  

In many ways the system is very good.  But the faffing around, the 15 minutes at expensive phone time, and the bother for someone who has no idea what he is doing is stressful.  Especially as I have done nothing since yon time.

However, I am grateful that this is a good surgery, that the NHS is still alive, and that they are around the corner and not miles away.  Things could be a lot worse.

Mind you, depending on the results I may have to go through all this again!