Damn right.

As published by the Highland genius that is ccgd.

The ambulance rolls up, I clock the driver, I know him, thank God. He’s going to hate me, though I didn’t call for them, that was down to the panicky man on the mobile when I arrived, fuck knows what he said to the call handler, but “drunk and confused” shouldn’t end up getting a vehicle with lights, siren and that much diesel.

He left when I showed him my ID and badge, muttering about how late he was, skulking off into the background.

I approach the passenger side.

“Alright C? Adult female, allegedly ‘collapsed’, fully concious throughout, no signs of illness or injury. She’s pretty unstable, very confused, I’ve been her brother, husband and son-in-law in the past six minutes. Verbally abusive, physically threatening, so watch yourself, she’s swung for me a couple of times. Smell of alcohol from her, seems a little drunk.
Oh…and incontinent by bladder as well.”

He looks me in the eye.

“It just gets better and better, doesn’t it? Thanks mate, thanks a lot.”

Right people, here’s the score.

My niece made a webpage at Matmice, her counter languishes at the bottom and, being 11, she’s not completely aware of the vastness of the Internet. The fact that her page hasn’t been inundated with comments is becoming a cause of, shall we say, consternation.

So, go here for me, scroll to the links to her guestbook and leave her a message, tell her you’re a friend of mine (use my real name if you know it) and that you’d like to wish her a happy birthday for this Sunday past.

Sam appeared last Saturday, I chatted with his parents, H&D about it all on the following Monday, they were still in their smiley “It’s all a bit unreal” phase.

I dropped by yesterday and apparently it hasn’t hit home yet.

*Phone rings*

“Hello? Oh, hi…Yes, yes, I’ve given blood before; but I’m afraid I can’t help you this time, you see I’ve just given birth…to a baby.”

Ever calm in the face of adversity.

Click for bigness and more-pictures-ness.

It’s my birthday on Sunday…

If anyone gets me the Episiotomy and Perineal Repair Simulator, I may be forced to leave the country.

And anonymising wins…

Is that you calling?
Shouting, your cries against
The wind and waves?
Or have you buried your lips in brine
Burbling muffled pleas to the fish?

Your eyes lack focus,
your mouth begs sleep.
Purple claws,
cardiac clatter.

You’ve done a proper job, my son.
But why here?
This glasshouse in a rabbit warren
Of quiet corners, lockable doors,
secluded, secret, overlooked.
Where discovered sanctuary do-si-dos
with means, intent and action.

Clean and quiet, no fuss no muss.
No names.
No pack drill.
No clue.
Your last in crushing, sloshing pain,
Visceral broth, self-contained.
No mop and bucket here.
Just trawling for your fragments.
Emptying cupboards, scaling roofs.

There is no beauty, just the end of the gifts.

Right outside my window.
You’re very talented.

Now fuck off.

for Mr Traaaumaqueen; here he comes, blogging at the door.

I have lots of posts to write and little time, so choose from the menu below, the post title with the most votes gets written first.

The one about the amazing famous night out.
The one about babies.
The one about stuff I really have to anonymize and will probably be done in enigmatic prose.
The one about going to hospital.