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.