Archive for December, 2008

All my… friends I… return to wish you a happy Christmas

I bragged – somewhat precipitously – in work the other day that despite the  huge surge of coughing, sneezing, vomiting, exploding, virulent and infectious patients we’ve had of late that I hadn’t a day off sick in 9 years. So today I broke that duck.

But my friends would have none of it. Just as one is looking forward to an evening feeling sorry for myself and indulging the twin pleasures of beer and theology – they tend to come in and spoil it all with gifts and grace and love beyond words.

They managed to give only books (such wisdom…)  and only one book twice – all very impressive. Both to the ones with the tenacity to show their faces and the ones with the sense and mercy not to bother – I thank you all. You all do what you do in my life exceptionally well and to each I am eternally grateful and will continue to show my love for you by locking myself in the house and ignoring all your acts of gracious kindness toward me. Forgive me.

I am better at preaching the gospel of love and community and fellowship than living it. But at least you give me some examples to learn from.

None of it changes that Dad is not here. Not that any of you expected it. I just don’t tend to do fun anymore. Joy maybe but not fun. Though I’d be willing to give it a go sometime.

End Any Ill

2 months of too much time shut up in the house with the computer and a guitar can’t be good for you. Anyhow it’s done now.

End Any Ill


So this is Frolics

And yes the time has come again. When those of us who had the privilege of spending time in university together (mostly lying around drinking tea and putting the world to rights or playing mario-kart) get back together for an evening of food and light entertainment.

Festive Fun & Frolics (in fact whoever came up with the name please let me know…) has become something of an institution, progressing and evolving year by year. Gone of the days of a take-away Chinese and everyone crammed into my bedroom in Tate’s Avenue for a rendition of Temptation Dinghy. It’s all “smart casual” and restaurants and we even have an organising committee (too many presby’s you see…) even if it is just Jose with too much time on his hands.

It has also become strangely evangelistic, with more and more what could be seen as random punters being brought on board. Which is cool, cause something like this will inevitably be cliquey (!) and full of “in jokes”.  Some of the “blow ins” (I don’t mean that honestly, we love you really, apart from Skeeno…) are WAGs (wives and girlfriends) or HABs (husbands and boyfriends) but most are just guys we know who seem happy enough to be involved in such silliness.

The interesting bit – to us at least – is the entertainment, with each former student house providing an item – mainly songs. I thought I’d include some of the videos below so that all the silliness may be recorded for all eternity. Some day some of you will get married and the best man will have such good material to choose from…

First up was Pete and Fred’s Megamix danceathon. It went on for about 20 minutes. I was tired just watching them. Edited highlights below. Sorry about the lighting. Watch out for Gilpy’s 80s power grabs. Priceless.

This year provided the pleasant surprise of Windsor Avenue actually pulling out something pretty decent for once, compared with the bizzare after eight games of recent years.

Edinburgh St tend to be the industry favourites each year though the public vote let them down somewhat this year. Every one was upset Jonny’s Aunty Mary didn’t make an appearance this year.

And then there was Tates. After a brief confusion when I thought Sparky meant us to sing a Christmas Carol and then realising he meant A Christmas Carol we were off and running. Though this borrowed sightly more from the muppets than Dickens. It’s a bit long but worth it. Well not really but there is nakeness at one point and that always improves the blog stats.

Pizza and wine

Just a quick one.

1) my landlord just bought me a bottle of wine when he called for the rent. And he’s not even a patient. I’m so impressed.

2) I’m down with the old man-flu. Finally. The immune system of chmpions finally takes a hit… So i’m eating frozen pizza and watching a DVD, how low i have fallen.

[NB: Does anyone apart from my brother even remember Juiet Turner…]

Thank you for saving me

I got my first bottle of wine off a patient today. Not that I think patient’s should encourage their doctor’s to alcohol or anything, though there could be worse things.

Some people’s office’s and pigeon holes are coming down with thank you cards and pressies from patients – there is a certain speciality bias to that.

People who deliver babies get lots of gifts cause it’s generally a happy event and there’s lots of pressies being bought anyhow.

Surgeon’s get lots cause what they do to the patients is fairly dramatic and occasionally it even works (sorry, no surgeon bashing, sorry…) and you generally see lots of them over a month or two so there’s a certain relationship that develops there.

Anywhere, where you get to develop a relationship with a patient (not in any dodgy “let’s meet for dinner and a movie” type way) then there’ll be opportunities for free stuff.

Unfortunately given the nature of A&E we generally don’t develop too much of a relationship – the majority of what we do is basic management and diagnosis and then referral on for appropriate definitve care. The bit of the job that is truly ours and ours alone is the critically ill and resuscitation. Unfortunately most of our target demographic is nearly dead or technically dead and therefore not big into relationship building.

[Anaesthetists suffer a simiar problem in that they put all their patient’s to sleep and do the cross word till the butcher surgeon is all done.]

So we suffer a somewhat unfortunate lack of biccies and pressies relative the 70000 or so we see a year.

There are exceptions to this. Almost every patient of Gilly’s I review will have “a little something” for Dr Carson. But then he is truly exception as medic, Christian and human being. And he doesn’t even drink the whisky…

5 years I’ve been working now and not one pressie have I got (I once got given 20 quid which I put into the ward fund) – now I’ve got boxes of celebrations dedicated to the ward staff but nothing to me personally. Yes I’m that self-absorbed.

Till today. A young fella who I had blind luck to pick up sarcoid on got me a bottle of vino – even though it was the respiratory team who did all the real work of scopes and scans and biopsies. Seems unfair. But hey I’ll take what I can get –  deserved or not.

The photo album

Found this photo of Da when he was 20 and kind of scared myself a bit. We used to joke that I was son of the milkman cause I didn’t look like either mum or da. Go figure.


Can’t help who you love

One of the big things (amongst many) i missed while living in NZ was decent live music, in fact any live music. My only experiences of live music in NZ were the Datsun’s being very loud in a pub across the marina and making it into the Hawke’s Bay Herald for being too loud. That and a BYOB night at the church i was a part of where even i played and sang so that shows how desperate they must have been.

Not that NZ hasn’t produced a few musical geniuses – namely flight of the conchords – one of whom used to be in the hugely wonderful Black Seeds…

[yes of course there was crowded house and kiri te kanawa but let’s try and forget…]


As far as Norn Iron goes, we rock. We have a pretty decent bunch of musos putting out some pretty fine stuff. I could (almost) happily wean my music collection down to contain mostly Irish folk. We seem to pretty good at this. More good reasons to be Irish.

I have numerous tenuous links to vaious people involved in music in NI – I always joke to Skeeno that I live with someone who knows someone who is almost famous – and I feel cool because of that…


As a result i feel some odd kind of community with the music that we put out in this place. Not that I add that much i just turn up and cheer at the gigs.

Tonight was The mighty Lowly Knights in McHugh’s (holding claim to the title of oldest pub in Belfast) shoved in the basement out of the way in one of the cosiest gigs I’ve been in in a long time.

Gigs in Belfast are always cool, cause there’s nearly always the same people at all the gigs, and so it’s a good way to catch up with people who you don’t see so much of any more. Though with advancing age I realise that there are now more and more students I don’t know and fewer and fewer people with jobs and lives and babies who I do know. Yet I still can’t grow a beard. So it goes.

The Knights have an exceptional quirkiness which I suppose is part of their charm. not many bands have a choir, wear braces and print song sheets for the crowd. Most impressive.

Gigs always make me want to write songs and be in a band and grow my hair. I try to narrow the distance between the life I live and the life I think I live, though I’m not sure it always works that neatly…

When will i be famous

Almost makes the X-Factor worthwhile. Though i did say almost. I feel oddly privileged to call these guys friends…

Put the book back on the shelf

David Copperfield  brief summary.

Life sucks, but it’s really quite intriguing all the same. Lots of people die, some move to Australia, the bad guys get their comeuppance in the end.

Best line [following his (unfortunately named) wife Dora’s death]:

I sit down by the fire thinking with a blind remorse of all those secret feelings I have nourished since my marriage, I think of every little trifle between me and Dora, and feel the truth, that trifles make the sum of life.

The same deep water as me

At least it keeps the pigeons off the square…

[Thanks as always to the Big Picture]


London Calling [Part 6]

The course’s highlights today: Liver disease and intensive care stuff, from someone who really lived their liver patients – kind of inspiring but also slightly worrying – that maybe you should get out more. That and a great story about a guy successfully resuscitated after 4 and a half hours CPR and an initial temperature of 9 degrees centigrade. You’re not dead till you’re warm and dead. And then you’re dead and you get cold again… And it seems we under does all our status epilepticus patients – which is why they won’t stop fitting it seems.

I leave, inspired to do a better job than I do – inspired to study more and do better –  and audit anything that’s not tied down to see if we can do it better. Though I know when I go through the doors tomorrow it’ll be back to the conveyor belt of demands and waiting times and decisions and annoyed, angry, frightened patients.

Audit is something I hated for years – something I felt compelled to do my bosses who said that you’ll never get anywhere with your CV till you’ve got a few audits on board. This was perhaps the wrong way to explain it to me. I always say I am the least career minded person I know – if it’s not good old fashioned looking after people then I’m not interested. which is all very noble and all that but mostly bollocks. If I’m honest I’m sure I’m in it for the glory as much as the next person. And so if someone said audit was good for CVs and careers then I wanted no part of it.

Then I read some journals and in particular Atul Gawande, who in his simply articulate manner persuaded me that you cant get any better at what it is that you do unless you count the numbers I now love numbers. This was somewhat of a road to damascus experience for me.

What frustrates me in the current job is simply how bloody difficult it is to count the numbers and what an awkward specialty emergency medicine is for counting the numbers.

For example if you do bypass surgery for people with heart disease you almost invariably treat patients who have the same cause (burgers and ciggies and being from Norn Iron) for their disease and the patients themselves are a fairly homogenous group. You will have a fairly predictable number of these to do each year. The technique for doing them is largely standardized from operative technique to anesthesia to post-operative care to expected complications. Therefore it is relatively easy to measure your outcomes (who died, who lived, who had complications) and see how you’re doing.

In emergency medicine, anything (in terms of pathology) can walk through the door and frequently you have the wrong diagnosis when the patient is either admitted or discharged. The population you deal with is from as young as 2 days (the youngest one who i was involved with who i’d done the baby check on before they’d went home and came back dead within 36 hours – how good did i feel…) to 101 (who was fine and went straight home again). And even if you do know what’s wrong with them, you don’t tend to be involved in their ongoing care and therefore have no idea how they do in the longer run –  that’s a number for someone else to measure.

So you end up trying to find the stuff that is peculiar to us, stuff that belongs to emergency medicine as such. And the list is fairly small though significant. There are certain standards of care that are expected of someone with a certain diagnosis, for example early antibiotics in severe sepsis, nimodipine in sub-arachnoids, time to reperfusion in heart attacks(though that’s more down to the cardiologists these days…).

The problem is simply getting the data. In the twenty-first century we are still using DOS based systems for blood results, patient tracking and printing X-rays on film. We record all our notes on paper. Do you remember paper? And writing things with a pen and all that…? Welcome to early 70s… It seems the health service has the monopoly on dot-matrix printers – pleas just stop making them and we’ll be forced to change…

Without a decent digital record the whole thing is a complete nightmare to measure. How do you archive and database all this paper. How do you retrieve all the data. Well by simple hard work and lifting through reams of paper which is what people did in the old days but it galls me to even think about it.

It is important to note that computer systems and electronic care records and digital radiology are unlikely to save lives but they will keep your doctor sane and I figure that’s always a good thing.


I skipped the last lecture, having to sneak out to get the train to Stansted, which seems to take so long that you might be better flying from Bristol instead.

I always used to say that I quite liked London to visit but I could never live there. And I suppose after a few days dandering around and being a bit older and a bit uglier i think i could probably live in London. I used to think it was only famous people and druggies and politicians who lived in London (often combining the two or even all three…) – in fact the only famous person i saw walking around was the chap Lizo who does the entertainment stuff for BBC news. And i suppose that doesn’t really count does it.

It turns out that London is in fact full of normal people, going about normal everyday lives. Just with worse commutes into work and better suits.

I’m not saying I want to live here, just that I’m no longer scared and intimidated by the place. Which has got to be some kind of step forward.

Incidentally – almost finished David Copperfield which I started back before Da died. It’s like all of the old proper books i read, initally a bit bewildering and dull, and nothing seems to happen, then a few folk die, people get older and the book ends. Though by the end you’ve been reading the book so long that you’ve grown rather attached to everyone in it.

London Calling [Part 5]

Back to work then. Well kind of.

The course for the next two days is much busier than the last one, we’re all kind of crammed into an old Victorian room, which fluctuates between too warm and too hot and there’s never enough coffee to go round.

But the course is good. We even had a repeat of the heart failure talk we’d had on thursday – and it was even more compelling the second time round. Though he was preaching to the converted. I’m a CPAP and morpine man with liberal use of GTN. In  youth i was a furosemide man, though i have perhaps seen the light and all that.

For the non-medics – you may not be aware that for lots of things we don’t know ctually how to treat you so we invoke the gods of anecdote and evidence based medicine and expert opinion to try to justify whichever options we choose. It’s great fun. Though not for the patient perhaps.

There was an interesting chat on thrombolysis for stroke which again reinforced what remarkable things we can treat that we didn’t used to, and also just because we can doesn’t mean we should be doing it where i work. People are always keen to throw money at wht’s fashionable – especially drugs, cause we think they’re like pixie dust or something. No one is willing to throw money at things like, nurses and beds and meticulous supportive care, which is what gets people through illnesses alive I suppose we’re just not willing to accept that we can’t “fix” things.

Anyhow, i must do a proper philosophy of medicine rant. Just not right now.

Back to London.

img_2749Tonight was proper culture – people in penguin suits playing violins and cellos and other instruments I can’t name. Schumann or Scubert or something like that. It was in the Royal Festival Hall which is all very nice, and to give it some credit is really quite egalitarian and evangelisic about the arts, running free concerts and that type of thing. I didn’t feel out of place in my combats at least.

Again we were front row – I don’t kowo how Carson does it – the man’s a genius.

Witihn seconds of the start I was in another world. I get bored listening to classical music on the radio or a CD – the whole thing seems so damned lifeless – I’m lost without my usual handles of rejection, unrequited love and misery that I find in all my “sad-bastard” music. But live it’s a different story – I’ve no idea what’s going on but it’s beautiful – and i suppose that’s all i need to know.

One of the great skills and knacks to life is to see beauty in everything. People write books, and paint paintings and sing songs – because they want to describe something of what it means to be alive. Now of course this isn’t always prettty – bad things happen remember – but it will almost always be something pretty heart felt and genuine. It will nearly always have a bit of “soul” to it.

A broad appreciation of how humans do all this is simply vital – it’ll vary, from footy, to songs, to books, to the things we say to each other. it’s just one persons way of looking at life – and yes we can have a long chat about whether it’s “true” or not – but no matter what way you look at it – it will not be unimportant.

Anyhow, vague, pooorly considered culture rant over.

More amusingly – the chief violin fellow broke a string half way through, and simply swapped the one with the broken string for his mates beside him and played that until his mate had fixed the one with the broken string.

Dandered back to Leiscter Square for a steak and were accosted by 7 or 8 ward sisters from Craigavon Hospital. We were naturally a little surprised. They were all on our list of people we didn’t expect to see that night. Good to see them all the same mind you.

It has started raining – after a good solid 5 days of icy cold. Almost enough to make me abandon the walking and get back on the tube. But then if i hear one more prat singing “let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London” – then I’m going to cause someone grievous bodily harm. Could be worse – could be singing “Lady in Red”…

London Calling [Part 4]

Went and saw the mouse trap last night. It’s been running in London continually for something like 56 years or something silly. there’s a counter at te entrance saying this is now the 24000 performance or something. I can imagine the poor actors pleading “please kill me” during the performances.

Gilly was convinced that he’d seen it once before during his time in London, and was fairly sure that the butler did it. Which seemed understandable till we realised there wasn’t actually a butler in the cast at all. Anyhow good show. In a vertigo inducing theatre.

Breakfast in my hotel has so far been uneventful. Turn up in the dining room, sit down, man brings me eggs and bacon. Until today. The dining room is exceptionally small, not exactly big enough to hold all the guest at the same time, not even big enough to hold more than 8 of the guests at the same time. Which led to some entertainment. “would i wait outside?”, would I wait inside?”, “would I mind sharing a table with this lady?”, “would I mind sharing a sausage with this man?”, “would i mind waiting outside again?”

There were smashed plates, no glasses, an overflowing coffee machine, shouts from the kitchen, a foreign chap with no english waiter kept getting everything wrong and a rather frantic Englishwoman who followed him around apologising for all the mistakes. It appears that Fawlty Towers is alive and well. I loved it.

Met Gilly at All Souls, where inevitably he knew the first person at the door. All souls holds a bit of a special place, with all the previous visits with CE, and all the people who seem connected with the place. And they do a good job. Be it from music, to communion, to welcoming. Put a bit of hope in my soul which has been conspicuously absent over recent months.


Spent the afternoon in the British Museum – which remains wonderfully free of charge – looking at mummies, and rocks and books. Fantastic stuff. I could get lost (physically and metaphorically) in there for weeks.


Incidentally, the British Museum has the longest queue for coffee I’ve ever seen. I tell a lie, the longest queue i’ve ever stood in – normally i just see it and don’t bother.

By that stage it was time for the afternoon nap. Not that we sleep, we just go back to the Royal Society and i lie about on the sofa writing blogs and fiddling more with the drum samplers while Gilly either lies down or reads theology. All very pleasant.

This evening we met up with a couple of CE graduates, who’ve ended up working in London for the mean time. So good to see people you know in a totally different context. We went to All-Souls again to hear Rico Tice and have a pizza after. All very lovely indeed.

Tomorrow I suppose we’re back to work, looking at things as widely varying as status epilepticus to dermatological emergencies – normally that last one’s an oxymoron, but there are a few skin 999’s.

Maybe I should add this. I’ve found myself enjoying things. Enjoying this trip, enjoying musicals, and other people’s company and all that. I haven’t done much of that recently. There’s this odd guilt that by enjoying things you’re somehow being disloyal to the memory. That you’re somehow being disloyal to the grief process. I dunno. Maybe it’s just good days, bad days. The whole thing’s a bit mad really. I don’t pretend to be doing it particularly well. You just get though it somehow. You just keep going.

London Calling [Part 3]

I stayed up too late last night in the hotel fiddling with drum samplers (simultaneously an advantage and disadvantage of the laptop) and slept in this morning while Gilly did some Christmas shopping. I spent the morning looking for a razor (not being allowed any on the flight over) as the spidey fluff on the chin had started to get a bit embarrassed.

It is a world gone mad when it’s cheaper (2.80) to buy 10 razors compared to 3.80 fro 3 and a ridiculous 8.40 for one. Anybody need 9 razors.

It’s a glorious winter morning in London. the tourists are out in force in Russell Square, feeding the rather over tame squirrels and getting photos and videos of them.


Spent the afternoon in the cabinet war museum under the ministry of defence. Given the office’s recent obsession with the warmongering, ginger, cigar smoking hero of the second world war i’ve been somewhat drawn toward his history of the second world war. The opportunity to see the no 10 annexe and the cabinet war museum was too good to miss.

I love museums, i love the little audio guides yo get. the last one i get was on a tape deck in a museum in london in the mid-eighties on holiday with the family. this one was all wi-fi and technological and very impressive. it even had kate aidie doing the commentary on part of it.

the museum was simply fantastic. lots of nerdy factoids and quotes from the man himself. various items of clothing and even a half-smoked havanna.

walked back via reagent’s street in all it’ hellish christmas glory. get me out of here…

Gilly is staying in the royal society of medicine – which sounds all very erudite – and well maybe it is but it’s got good sofas and internet and a humongous library that gets me excited just looking at it. I love librarys. second only to cafes. though librarys where you can get coffee are the pinnacle of everything.


London Calling [Part 2]

right then.

Lots of stuff on electrophysiology and cardiac mapping and re-entry circuits and the amusing story of the guy in the early 2oth century who was researching how to initiate cardiac conduction and VF in jellyfish and was found dead one day after trying out the electrodes on himself and successfully inducing VF and killed himself instantly. Funny in retrospect maybe.

Seeing as we’re in London it would seem rude not to meet up with a few of the folk we know. Though when you say you’re in London, it’s somewhat similar to saying you’re in Northern Ireland, it may still take as along as Antrim to Portadown to see them

I tend to let Gilly choose the restraunts and so on. He’s a bit of a London addict, and knows his way round pretty well. He took the three of us to china town to a restaurant that when he was in it last time he saw a mouse run out of the kitchen. I’m not sure how that was meant to endear it to us…

img_2723I first saw Les MIserables about 5 or 6 years ago, the last time I had a proper trip to London. And I was a bit blown away by it. The moment when the bishop hands him the rest of the silver – priceless. I forget very quickly how a live orchestra and a bunch of men in tights can move you so powerfully.

We’d got tickets for 25 quid – a bargain basement price – so much so that I figured we might actually be in the basement out of the place. So front row was a little bit of a surprise. Though it was so front row that we occasionally got spat upon by the singers when they were in full flow. They were so close Gilly felt obliged to offer them some Maltesers.

From there out into the centre of London on a friday night, with all the beutiful people in the world, out to live their lives and leave their mark.  We sat in Starbucks and watched a young girl collapse from drinking too much (no doubt it’ll be “doctor my drink was spiked”, by the time she reaches A&E) – note we didn’t help we just sat drinking coffee, i figure we’re off-duty. That and waking down by the river watching the ignorant hoodied teenagers drinking “coke” out of bottles and smoking their dope on a bench in the rain. Can’t help thinking that some day they’ll wake up and think “so this is life then…” Your heart breaks for all the kids who think they have it all sorted. The adults too sometimes.

London Calling [Part 1]

When I came back from NZ, I put a self-imposed moratorium on travelling. That I wouldn’t leave the country for a year or two. This on the background of 7 or 8 years of globetrotting, and more CO2 emissions than you could shake a stick at. To be honest, I don’t really mind, I love Ireland, I don’t see the point in going on holiday anywhere else (now living somewhere else – that’s a different story…) – all I wanna do is drive round Ireland in the Volvo and sleep on the beach. Ireland rules. Anyhow

So I’m in London.

Which doesn’t really count as leaving the country. Even though I’m travelling on an Irish passport to the UK and leaving the fair isle of Eire. I never really strictly defined the old moratorium on travelling anyhow.

2 months into the new job – me and young Dr Carson have abandoned the A&E department for 6 years to swan round London, sit in coffee shops and… oh yes go to a couple of medical emergencies courses….

So with terrible preparation of a night on call with 4 hours sleep, followed by a day’s work, an evening out with the ever wonderful JHOs (the guys I did my first year as a doc with) and another 4 hours sleep on Knoker’s floor in Belfast.

I sort of remember the flight over here, though I was a tad on the sleepy side. I woke up in Liverpool St Station. I remember that. I still love travelling alone, I still love airports and coffee shops and newspapers and sitting in the corner watching everyone.

Medical courses are odd. Full of coffee, croissants, data projectors, consultants in “casuals”, all of us there listening to lectures on lists of data of primary PCI vs thrombolysis and when to use a glycoprotein IIb/IIIa inhibitor – and all of us really quite enjoying it. People like us should be kept in small groups in seminar rooms and not let into the real world I know.

img_2715Slightly overloaded on cardiology, we roamed the streets of London, soaking up the atmosphere (as I soaked up the damp through the shoes I tried to super glue back together) of London in the run up to Christmas.

We stumbled upon Trafalagar square just in time for the switching on of the Christmas lights on the Norwegian Christmas tree. Apparently it’s been a tradition that the Norwegians have given us a big tree every year since our timely assistance in the second world war. Though I’ve read some Churchill and I’m pretty sure we invaded Norway at one point – the Norwegians were glad yes, but we definitely invaded them… Anyhow.

Boris was there. Boris rules. I’d vote for Boris. Boris was funny.

There was a terrible rendition of some classic carols – the choir and Sally Annes were good, it was just the crowd that was feeble. Times have changed I suppose.

By 7pm i was fading fast, and Gilly’s dodgy “one leg longer than the other” wasn’t doing him any favours either. img_2719

I booked into my hotel (50 a night with “shared bathroom outside room” – i didn’t expect much and i’m not disappointed. Oh well, the door locks at least…) and took a brief dander round to Russell Square and found a pub to write this and use the internet (finally pretty much everywhere in London has free internet).

So i’m back where I’m happy, in the corner with the tunes going, people-watching. Of the three tables near me, only one group are speaking English. There’s a group of young eastern europeans sitting next to me having a drink. This is fascinating. Why? Because most everywhere you go it’s usually the Eastern Europeans serving in the bar, not drinking in it. It’s good to see that maybe times are changing.

Right it’s 9pm, time to sleep me thinks.

In the waiting line

And there was me thinking our silly breaching system was over the top. Down in mexico it seems they’ve possibly swung a bit far the other way.

Good time, bad times

I wrote this a few weeks ago and I can’t help thinking it accurately describes the current situation:

i had 27 years of barely interrupted bliss and joy and then Da died and now everything’s shite

I don’t always feel like this, just for now. And what’s a blog for if not for the odd rant.

I was thinking i could clean up for christmas

Thanks to Zoomy

I hate fecing christmas anyhow, so any chance to run it into the ground – or maybe i missed the point…


December 2008