Ah, Hellday! Now, will Dr Anonymous appear to thank me for having assembled half a ream of patient results in case he cannot get them up on his computer screen this week? I went to march them all down the clinic this morning, along with the normal stuff to sign, the stuff for his junior, the Christmas card for his junior, the casenotes and the big boxes of chocolates a patient brought for him and Dr Hurricane… and the fire alarm went off. Sod it, I am not staggering outside with all this and I can’t throw it on the floor, so I will just have to make sure this lot burns to a crisp on someone else’s desk! I may be dead, but I will look dedicated! Or something.
You know what hurts? The cold on my nose and ears. You know what hurts worse? Having to carry through Dr Pleasant’s gift for my Colleague of Empty Kettles today. And now here be a heads-up and no mistake! My Colleague of Empty Kettles came through in the afternoon to complain to me that Dr Hurricane has performed her annual tradition of pleading poverty. (Which she does every year, even when I worked for her – she got me a mug, one year, which I did wonder possibly was some sort of Pictionary reference. ‘I got you this because… you are one!’ ‘What, a reindeer?’)
All I got from Dr Hurricane was a share of a box of Roses chocolates that a patient had given her! my Colleague of Empty Kettles said. That’s all I got!
Ah not so, Colleague of Empty Kettles. You got a bottle of champers and a M&S voucher off my consultant, thus meaning you got… exactly what I got!
So said I, and she stomped away. Ah, she wasn’t through to share our experience, she was through to tell me she’s hard done by. Hee hee hee. And this woman talks to me like I’m inferior to her.
Note to self: now isn’t this an object lesson! Don’t be bitter about slights, or the wind will change and you will become the Colleague of Empty Kettles. ARGH!
My other colleagues and I had a wee party at teabreak today – everyone brought a species of nibble and we sat eating it and playing Christmas carols. For twenty bloody minutes, but you’d think I’d been dogging it down the pub since opening hours, the fuss that went on. Dr Anonymous was on the rampage because the computer systems were down and he couldn’t get any patient results, and there was me, er, having a break not at my desk for once. Having a sodding break for once, even. They are all in a big folder, on his desk, marked ‘Results for Patients At [Dr Anonymous’s] Clinic!’ I told three different people who had been stirred up by this calamity, but it was no use; I had to down cake and go print it all off again for him. What a well-spent hour I spent yesterday on this! Why do I bother…
My Cellmate advised me to stay on half an hour, so I could get a lift home and a pick-up in the morning tomorrow. Aww! She is the devil himself, I knew it, and I will be fat in a heartbeat and everyone will be able to derive much mirth from the irony that was me bitching about being too skinny. Which will be nice for everyone except me.
Still, a hard evening’s graft later and that was the flat clean (because coming back from what – oh please merciful god – will be a lovely weekend with my family, not to mention their family, would be returning to reality with a hefty bump if I walked into a dirty flat with a load of dirty laundry lurking in it. It’s bad enough walking into a flat with so much to be done in it!) And though I forebore once more to wrestle with the Christmas tree (why? It’s just gonna sit in a room where nobody, not even me, goes!) – I put fairylights and tinsel all over the bed instead. They look so pretty with all the handcuffs and wigs! There was even enough over to drape over the weaponry!
Jesus it’s a good thing I don’t get company over.
But, that’s the gifts are wrapped and I am packed (and god, it’s an entire carload, me wee bro’s gonna flip, even though it’s mostly food and booze. Good King Wencelas, you have nothing on me!) And I was about to start the third stage of the wine when it suddenly all came to life in my hands. Hmm, fermentation is incomplete. I strained off the foam and fuzz and it went back to live by the radiator, under a blanket. No Christmas peapod wine for the Lady of Lovely Hats, argh! I had really hoped it would be done by now! Stupid cold weather!
But I have to confess, it is rather parky in the flat, and the frigid gale through the (double-glazed) kitchen window tonight was something else entirely. Something I couldn’t do anything about, being engaged in very carefully pouring a gallon-bucket of raw wine into a demijohn rather than down the sink. Right. I shall just have a small go of Civ before the Sums. Have I not earned it?
Unfortunately, that bastard Ghandi, who had been kissing serious arse recently to try and persuade me to take on the Vikings on his behalf, suddenly switched sides and joined the Vikings in a big war against me, and I was not letting that lie, so between that and me Chestnut-haired Old Mother phoning till nearly half eleven, that was the night, that was.
Mission for 2011: throw Civ out the window. And do not go to look for it.