That got you reading, didn’t it?

Before I forget, I need to tell you about the boobs I saw on Saturday night.
They were absolutely the worst boobs I’ve ever seen (not that I do a lot of looking, you understand).

To begin with, the lady in question was wearing a very tight, sheer silk dress which made her underwear particularly visible.

She was wearing a bra that was significantly too small for her and gave her four boobs.

The top two were pert and friendly, with staggeringly erect nipples.
The bottom two sagged considerably, but that’s not the worst of it; the very visible embroidery on her bra made them appear to have the texture of gravel, or perhaps apple crumble.

And you wonder why I stick to blokes?

Croila Linky - all about me!

I’m seriously considering turning Croila into my cookie-bitch, just like those dealers in Brooklyn brown-stones who keep addicts as household slaves…
Mwuaaa hahaha.

“That’s Dr Evil, if you please. I didn’t spend five years in evil medical school to be Mr Evil.”

From “The Sneeze”

You know how some commercial trucks have bumperstickers that say “If my driving sucks, call this number” or whatever? I think U-Hauls should have scrolling electronic signs that say “I’ve only been driving this truck for THREE MINUTES so you might want to give me a little room.”

I was always impressed by how many people would pull out in front of me when I was taking truck lessons, despite the fact that I had big L plates on the front of the vehicle.
It’s a huge truck, rolling towards you, with signs on the front that (paraphrasing) say “The person driving this thing hasn’t the first fucking clue what they’re doing.”

Yup, that’s the vehicle to cut up.

Yet another piece of brilliance from the general public in today’s Scotsman.

“Mr Neve said he did not see the police take anybody out of the house during the raid. He added: “The man who lives there is called Lee and he’s a professional kickboxer who fought for England. He’s about 33 or 34, and although he’s only 5ft 7in, he’s extremely well-built. His arms are the size of tree trunks. He tends to keep himself to himself(emphasis added), and I last saw him in the middle of last week. I’m not sure which day.”

The phrase “Very quiet, kept himself to himself” is ALWAYS drummed out by neighbours of criminals; I dare say it’s true, but it’s still a cliché.

It does make me want to shout at the media “Of course they fucking kept themselves to themselves, you dribbling retard! They were breaking the law!”

Nobody is ever going to knock on your door and say “Hi! I’m Dennis, from next door? Hi, yeah, we met at the Andersons’ barbecue last summer, oh, hello puppy, goodness, isn’t he getting big? Anyway, yes, thought you might like to know that I abducted someone else in the woods last night and I’ve got them chained up in my shed, I’ll just be doing a little bit of beating, maybe some burning and cutting before finishing them off and screwing their corpse. Do come round and let me know if the noise bothers you, won’t you? I’d hate to be a nuisance…”

Officers set up high-powered floodlights on the semi-detached house and concentrated their searches on a shed in the back garden. They sealed off the quiet cul-de-sac during the armed raid, but reopened it several hours later as they worked into the night. Two vanloads of forensic experts, dressed in white overalls, continued to comb the house and the search for clues.

Mr Neve’s wife, Tania, 30, said: “I was really frightened when I heard all this banging and shouting. My two boys were in tears and had no idea what was going on. They find it quite exciting now, but the police could have told us what was happening.”

Yes, naughty old police, how terribly inconsiderate of them.

“Good morning Sir, just thought you might like to know we’re carrying out a raid with armed officers on one of your neighbours, if you fancy hanging around outside your house so you can be in the line of fire, that’d be ideal. Alternatively, if your neighbour happens to be a friend of yours, or perhaps you’re involved in the crime we’re investigating, we thought it wise to give you fore-warning so you can let him escape out the back door, or take the time to load his assault rifle.”

Goddamn ass-hat fucktard neighbours.

At what point does the virtue of eating salad and fruit for lunch become fat-fuckery through sheer volume?

Example, I’ve just been to the fruit shop and bought five plums.

I’ve scoffed the lot.

They were yummy and good for me, but still, FIVE plums, fat fucker, surely?

Comments?

This week I:
Got a lovely gift and card from the BRC University group committee for all my help over the past couple of years.

Achieved a ’succeeded’ in my work performance review (BIG pay rise alongside, backdated to September, due in March, thankyou)

Heard some encouraging news about the SAS position.

Realised that with the payrise of above, I’ll be able to tell Visa to shove their card way way up inside their interest spiralling bottom holes.

Life.
Is.
Good.

For fuck’s sake…

again…

Just realised that YouTube have a huge collection of REM videos, so I’m happily supping at the well of Messrs Stipe, Berry, Buck and Mills.

Highlights include the famous Sesame St “Happy Smiling Monsters”, with a Muppet version of Kate Pierson. While the music’s nothing to note, the reactions are particularly brilliant.

Michael’s very obviously into it (I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t his idea in the first place, he has a history of forcing the other band members into videos they want nothing to do with), while Mike Mills is fairly demure about the whole thing.

What’s interesting is that Mike is wearing his glasses; a sure fire sign that he’s keen on the gig as he’s admitted in the past to using his raging myopia to ‘hide’ from audiences or shows that he’s been less keen on doing.

Right at the top of the pile though is Peter’s reactions. Peter Buck is probably the coolest person in the world, louche and sanguine about everything, he’s definitely the most ‘rock’ of the three.

I’ve seen him rage and gesture at crowds that threw things at the stage, a dramatic counterpoint to Michael’s polite requests to desist.

Seeing Peter rocking out on a banjo with a fluffy monster crying on his shoulder is…well, I’ll let you see for yourselves.

For those REM fans out there who prefer something of a different vintage, you might enjoy Wolves, Lower (rarely seen/heard these days) featuring a very fresh-faced and deeply gorgeous Mike Mills.

And finally, possibly influenced by REM’s Sesame Street outing, Weezer’s “Keep Fishin’”, filmed with the Muppets, watch out near the end for front man Rivers Cuomo’s moment of “Fuck me! I’m singing a duet with Kermit!”

Monday 6th.
Notice advert on NHS Jobs page for a Clinical Support Worker on Ward 6 at the local children’s hospital. I’ve always maintained that I’d only do CSW work in A&E, as I’d find ward work too tedious and routine, but the draw of working with kids again is too strong.

Phone SMM “What does Ward 6 do?”
“Ward 6…ummm, I think that’s Ortho.”
Awesome! Paediatric Ortho! I can handle that, really interesting, really indepth, would massively increase my limb knowledge (which is really really crap!).

I click on the link to download a job description, it fails. I try to download an application form, same story.

Back to the old school then, I call the hospital direct, they put me through to a host of different extensions before I end up talking to “The Recruitment Centre” based just across the road from SMM’s station in Ambutown (20 miles from Edinburgh!)
They’re friendly and helpful, can they send me an application form?
“Of course, just give me your address..”
“It’s kal, that’s kay-ay-ell, at..”
“At?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no, I need your postal address, or you could download it from the web.”
“Yeah, I’ve tried that, it doesn’t work.”
“It never does, sorry.”
“Well, can you not email it to me?”
She gives a breathy, fluttery little sigh, I can *hear* her biting down lightly on her pinky.
“I’m not really sure how…”
I stare at my phone in incomprehension.
“I’ll put it in the post tonight.” she continues “It’ll go first class, don’t worry.”

The closing date is Thursday, I thank her and return to hammering my head on my desk.

Tuesday 7th
Woken by sound of postman buzzing for entry to my building, stand by letterbox, stark bollock naked, waiting for him to drop my application form through.
Nothing.
Spend evening writing up answers to questions that *might* be asked on the form, just in case. Phone friend used to be a doctor in A&E at the hospital in question.
“Sarah? What does Ward 6 do, is it Ortho?”
Am rather hoping at this point she’ll say “Ward 6? No, not Ortho, that’s the Snakes and Ladders, Playstation, Stories and Cuddles ward.”
Instead I head “Ward 6? That’s Burns and Plastics, special emphasis on facial deformity, why?”

The words die in my throat, fucking hell. Burns? Plastics? I can’t deal with that, can I?

Gulp.
Sleep on it.

Wednesday 8th.
A FORM! In the post! Arrive at work late, due to waiting for form to get there, but it’s here! Hooray!

Meet Nerfgirl in afternoon, she has wisdom: “Go for it, if you can do Paediatric Burns, you can do anything.”

Take courage in both hands, realise can’t write like that, so put it down and pick up a pen.

Fill in form frantically after work, then, realising there’s no way I can post it to arrive on Thursday morning, dash off to get on a train to Ambutown to deliver it in person.
Bus to train station, miss train by 4 minutes, next one in an hour, call parents for chat, mother responds to hearing “burns and plastics” in exactly the same way as me “Gulp.”

It shouldn’t make a difference, I know, I’m supposed to have this milk of human kindness jazz going on that means I’ll treat the patient and not the injury.
I think I could hack it, I really do, but at the end of the day, it’s kids with burns.

Ultimately get on train, taxi through Ambutown to hospital, only open department is A&E. Shit, A&E receptionists are the harshest people I’ve ever met, they deal with more shit on a day to day basis than we normalites cope with in a year.

She’s typing away, eyes down. I approach the desk; the eyes stay down.
“Yes?”
“Ummm, I was wondering if I could impose on you?”
The eyes come up, an eyebrow is raised.
“I really need this to get into the internal mail, could you drop it into your outgoing for me?”

She sighs, takes the envelope from me and glances at the address.
“Recruitment centre?”
“That’s right.”
“Job application?”
“Yup.”
“Oh, honey, of course I’ll drop it in for you, it’ll not get there until tomorrow morning though, is that alright?”
“That’s perfect.”
“Ok, leave it with me, I’ll make sure it gets through.”

Return to train station, have missed train (again) by four minutes, next one in an hour and a half. Freezing cold, dark, alone, return phone calls I’ve been meaning to make, stamp up and down to warm my feet, buy chips, warm, but greasy and damp.

Sitting on a cold metal seat, wiggling around to generate some heat in my arse I finally strike a balance between the two differing temperatures, either the seat’s warmed up or my arse has frozen, either way, it’s comfortable.

Crack open the book, it’s far too dark to read, shuffle sideways to get into the light, right onto freezing cold metal. Curse Ambutown.

Thursday 9th
I wonder if they got it…..

Friday 10th.
Nothing to report.

Saturday 11th
Training in Penicuik for these guys. Hilarious, really, as I’ve been trying to get onto first responder groups in outlying towns as a precursor to ambulance work. Now I’ve suddenly become a trainer for them.

This only comes to light when Bryan, the boss, speaks up as we’re all getting ready for the day “Oh, does anyone mind me putting the names forward to the Ambulance Service as being the official trainers for the scheme?”
We all answer in the negative.
“That’s lucky, because I already did. Congratulations guys, you’re now the Ambulance Service’s CFR Training Team for South East Division.”
Jaw hits floor.

Speak of jaws, we’re busy teaching students about jaw thrusts (pushing the jaw bones forwards to clear an obstructed airway) and discussing how hard it is to practice on real people, as the muscles tend to clench and stop the jaw moving in a realistic fashion. Ascertain that one member of team is able to relax jaw and speak up “I’ve got the same thing, I’m prepared to be thrusted by anyone.”
Ping! Sound of pin dropping.
Head in hands.

Sunday 12th.
Training Red Cross First Aiders.

Incredibly posh (but very nice) girl on course is talking about summer jobs, overheard saying “Oh God, I *know*, I spent, like, the whole of my last hols opening oysters.”

Forced to break up in depth conversation about politics, commercialism and feminism by introducing participants to the ‘blanket wrap’ maneuvre. Drop a blanket around a person’s shoulders, grasp the resultant slack that develops at their chest, twist it around firmly until the blanket is tight around their arms, lead them away. Works a treat!

Answer obvious question with obvious answer. “Why do you have an x-ray viewer in the training room?”
“For viewing x-rays.”

Long conversation with student on course, still at school, doing course for his Duke of Edinburgh award. Turns out to be enormous film buff and Johnny Cash fan, long chat ensues about recent cinematic releases.
“Have you seen Brokeback Mountain?”
“No, everyone says it’s great, but, ummmm, I….”
“Fair enough, fair enough.”
“It’s not that I don’t WANT to, it’s just…”
“Dude, s’cool, gay cowboy films aren’t exactly up there in the respect stakes, right?”
He flushed crimson and nodded emphatically.

Later, while the group is discussing amputations he pipes up with “My dad’s friend works for the police, he’s their stable master. *beat* He’s only got four fingers left.”

Monday 13th
Told my bandaging for fractured femur was “superb” at training evening. Fuck yeah.

Tuesday 14th
Great lecture on triage from Ambulance people, fourth time I’ve seen something similar, so starting to sink in! Received heads up from nice training officer that there may be vacancies coming up soon.
Lovely card and chocolates from himself.

Wednesday 15th
Call friend in Ambulance recruitment, will the passes that I gained on my last attempt be carried forward sufficiently that I don’t have to sit all the exams again?
Answer: No.
Time to break out the maths textbooks, eat salad and get back in the gym, then!

Thursday 16th
Realise I have £18 to last me 13 days.
Shit.
Frantic Lidl shopping, lots of instant noodles and veg (stir fry time!). Am working my way through the checkout and have manager push past me with boxes of food, he dumps them by the door.
As I take my receipt the cashier says “All the stuff by the door’s going free, it’s near it’s use-by date, help yourself.”
There, smiling up at me from the top of the pile is two packets of microwaveable chicken in black bean sauce with fried rice.
Return home, stir fry noodles and veg in chilli, garlic and ginger, splash of soy sauce, serve with TV dinners. Eat like kings.

Friday 17th
Dinner at Kublai Khans Mongolian Barbecue, stuff self with springbok, zebra and wild boar, seems a shame to eat chicken, pork or beef when there are such exotic alternatives.
SMM’s brother in law a little out of his depth, very much a meat and two veg man, but got stuck in to the more unorthodox food, even if he did spend the evening trying to make chicken curry!

Saturday 18th
Threatening letter from letting agents claiming our account is in arrears by £80. Surprised, but go to bank and confirm last payment was up to scratch. Everything in order, though realise that standing order hasn’t been upgraded by £5 a month in accordance with rent increases at the start of the year. Fix this, then call agents.
“Braemore? Where can I direct your call?”
“I’d like to talk to someone about my account being in arrears, please.”
“I’m afraid there’s nobody in accounts today, we only operate a skeleton staff on a Saturday. Would you like to leave a message?”
Astounded, why would you bother opening for business if your staff can’t help your customers?

Off to Dundee to work a Murder Mystery for SCN, fun, but poor turn-out and very hard work.
Last year I had horrendous problems at this event because of anti-gay comments, my character was gay (in fact, my character was pretty much just me!) and the insults and comments that were slung around were truly evil.
This year I was playing an idiot savant (the theme of the night was a psychic’s fair), great powers of divination, but no social skills, everything was deadpanned, jokes went over my head, very child-like in personality.
At one point, while talking about something totally unrelated, a woman at the table said to all at large “Well he’s gay then, isn’t he?”
I can’t understand it, my character was so naive, he was, I think, the most asexual character I’ve ever played, it would be like fucking a very compliant but somewhat bemused puppy.
Fucking Dundee….

In other news, a lovely Dundee friend is pregnant. Hooray!

Sunday 19th
Caught up in Dundee, so only managed to get to the first aid course for the afternoon, nice easy day for me, set up some blisters on Daniel’s arm “Can you be the cas-sim trainer? We need someone evil…”, then had a couple of seizures and finally did a bit of witnessing/assessing.
Home, dinner (more stir fry!), coffee, chocolates from raffle at Dundee, video games, ER, bloke.

Whew! Caught up, now…what does this week hold?