Google+ Followers

Follow by Email

Saturday, 6 February 2010

In which I am no longer serene...

Lovely One, generally serene whatever, is peed off big time! I dragged my poor little sniffly snuffly body out of bed at five o'clock this morning to attend to the sick and dying and when I got to my first patient two other nightingales appeared. One was the one I should have been working with and the other one was the one I should have been working with, according to the obviously incorrect rota.
'Oh is this the first time it's happened to you?' enquired one of the cheery little blighters. 'I used to be a fisherman for six years' she went on. Though quite what that's got to do with the price of fish is anyone's guess. No, dear reader, it HAS everything to do with the price of fish, doesn't it? Anyway, it appears that 'the office' are forever getting their rotas wrong and double booking or cancelling without so much as a text. And speaking of texts, when I challenged 'the office' about the mix up they said that they'd been attempting to telephone and text me all day yesterday, which is absolute rubbish! I had both phones next to me and my pooter switched on for emails, so someone is covering up their faux pas by telling porkers! Then, one of them said I had to front up at the office for a 'back to work interview' before I could continue working. Flippin' 'eck I thought, I've only had a day off for a cold, which incidentally I couldn't have worked through (company policy) in case I infected anyone and caused them to shuffle off this mortal coil. So I sheared down there immediately to put them in the picture.
'Oh you needn't have come in' said the fourteen year old 'on call' girl.
My personal opinion is that my weekend calls were reallocted in error and forgotten about. Oh well, I feel rubbish anyway, which makes it even worse that...
The last Mrs S is on her way round here, even as I blog, to pick up more stuff. So I look like a dog's breakfast, with a big red nose, bloodshot eyes and a hacking cough worthy of 20 woodbine a day. And speaking of Mrs S, she can have Mr S back too if he's in the kind of mood he was in when he got home from work yesterday!
No, darling reader, I don't mean it, but does anyone out there know why men are such moody gits?
I miss my pussy.

Friday, 5 February 2010

In which I disgrace myself - twice...

I am at home today as I have a really horrible cold and the poor blighters that I minister to could do without any more ailments. If I had a normal job, like sitting at a desk etc., I could front up and just sit there sniffing and sneezing and take the money, but having to haul bodies around and wipe up this and that, I took to the duvet and snuggled up with a hot water bottle.
Yesterday was all willies and today would have been all feet and bums so lying around on the sofa listening to the birds tweeting in the woods was just what the doctor ordered.
The delights of yesterday were something of a circus act. Operating a hoist with one hand and making sure the airborne octaganarian didn't sit on his gonads with the other was quite a feat.
I can just hear the ringmaster now:
'For your entertainment today we have Lovely One flying through the air with a handful of geriatric gonads and moistened wetwipes, and all without the aid of a safety net.'
A little far fetched darling reader, but the day in reality did hold a couple of unfortunate faux pas.
The first occurred when dealing with a particularly stinky lump of rotting flesh hanging off someones nether regions. Lovely One has a finely tuned gag reflex and after failing to breathe through my ears I began retching uncontrollably which in turn released a little bottom burp. I blamed it on the poor unfortunate gentlman who we were ministering to at the time, but I don't think I got away with it!
A word of advice dear reader, when dealing with anything foul smelling, rotting flesh, not my bottom burp, obviously, which had the aroma of lily of the valley, stick your tongue to the top of your mouth and breathe through your nose. That way you don't inhale it.
The second in the day's series of unfortunate events was visiting her Ladyship. One is not allowed to use the facilities in Her Ladyship's castle, the servants quarters being adequate for the likes of Lovely Moi! However, as usual being in a tearing hurry and desperate for a wee I nipped into the regal throne room whilst the kettle was boiling for Her Ladyship's morning tea. She was still safely ensconced under the counterpane so couldn't chase me off and whack me with her walking cane. I read in her notes that she's belted someone the day before and chased them out of the castle.
The beautiful stone mullion windows, which are huge and not fitted with obscure glazing, look down over the sweeping lawns and landscaped grounds that meander down to the lake and the village beyond. Yesterday they meanered down to the gardener who had been standing, resting on his spade, watching Lovely One struggle in and out of her leggings. Flushed, I left the room and waited on Lady M.
On taking Her Ladyship down for breakfast I was complimented by another serf on how well I have been looking after Herself. In that, I always ensure she is well groomed and wearing her pearls, and has her hair dressed nicely. I was rather pleased by that and hope they report such findings to the Mothership.
Getting back to base exhausted I was regailed by Ma with tales of falling out with estranged Brother over aged P's funeral. Oh goody, following a full weekend of arse wiping I've got that lot to contend with.
Hey Ho pass the vodka.

Tuesday, 2 February 2010

In which I reflect on a long life, enjoyed...

Aged Ma says that she thinks aged Pa knew the end was coming and practically engineered his own demise. Aged P had an aortic anuerism since his early twenties. It shows up on his medical for national service and for some reason the examining officer chose not to mention it. This, since Pa found out about it relatively recently, has always been put down as being exceedingly wise, since Pa had a 'sporting' life and would probably had a sedentary one had he been armed with the actuals. Anyhow, recently he'd been offered an operation to attempt to correct the flaw and both he and I had taken the view that he'd had it for such a long time and lived life to the full, he'd take his chances. He'd been told not to drink to excess or smoke and apparently was doing both when at estraged brother's over Christmas. Bloke and me had been asked not to visit by Aged Ma, since Bloke had a cold. We were due to either go this Sunday, his 80th Birthday (Pa, not Bloke) or the following week when Ma will be 80. Anyway, it wasn't to be. We kept in reasonably close contact via telephone and email and knew each other very well. I did wonder if something was up since he had sent me an email to say he hadn't been keeping up with the blog since it was so cold in the computer room. This was followed by a declaration of feeling which is most odd from one of 'us' since a traditional show of emotion from my part of Luton is more likely to be a 'watcha mate' or a punch in the kidneys! It's still horrible to think of him dying alone on the bathroom floor and being there for two days until brother found him. But - we come in alone - go out alone and if we've done the best we can in between that's all there is. I shall be raising a glass or two on Sunday and having a fag in honour of aged P. He'd have really liked Bloke, you know!

The needy and desperate of the 'bleak and desolates' have had to make do without Lovely Moi this week, until tomorrow that is. Monday, I had a day to myself, Tuesday and Wednesday are my days off so I shall be aproned and gloved from Thursday to Sunday this week. Have got two hours sandblasting and scrubbing bungalow and grotty inhabitant on Thursday. I don't have much sympathy for people who are stragers to personal hygeine. This particular one is a bit of a 'Lou and Andy' type in that she is perfectly capable of manouvering her way to food or anything else she wants but seemingly incapable of making it to the bathroom.
One of my elderly gentlemen has turned out to be an erstwhile spy for MI6, no less! He has been regailing me with tales of 'derring do' from the war and post war years whilst I forage about in his undergrowth. He has written his memoirs, fortunately, as should a lot of my ancient charges, especially Her Ladyship. But, the events of ordinary people's lives will never be unknown again courtesay of the good old blog!

Well, darling readers, I thought you might like to know that Big has reared his ugly again. He seem content in his massive millhouse with his little dog, so all well with world.