Ahh the change in seasons; getting out last year’s cardigans and wondering if you can get away with “retro” for one more year.
If Scotland votes for independence, who gets Lulu? I know she is very small and hardly any trouble but we should be told.
Apparently I have to have a wisdom tooth removed. “It’s facing completely the wrong way,” the dentist said, as if I had somehow arranged for it to grow in the direction of Belgium on purpose. “I’ll refer you to the dental hospital - don’t hold your breath.”
I have been writing this column for some time and there has been only one subject that I have completely and consciously avoided: assisted dying.
OK, mini quiz.
How tired are you? On a scale of 1-10 where 10 is “I’m not tired at all - in fact I could jog to work, do a double shift, get home, feed the kids, polish the dog then jog out to my second job at Pete’s All-Night Car Wash and Curtain Repair Shop where I am in charge of ironing the drapes and colour coding the sponges.” And 1 involves a little bit of dribble slipping down your chin as you choose not to answer stupid questions in a magazine.
In the post-austerity, post-Francis NHS, fear can hang over clinical practice in a way that it didn’t a few years ago. The fear of making a mistake and being considered “the bad nurse”.
I got a penknife and a book on whittling for Christmas from my wife. No, I don’t know what it means either.
Years ago, after I had written something gently sarcastic about nurse leaders being a bit uninspiring and tending to design their actions to please the people above them in the food chain rather than below them, I was “challenged” by one to “stop carping on the sidelines and do something myself”.
Sometimes at the weekend my wife and I will compare items of interest in the news; a battle of the headlines, if you will, to see whose news is most interesting. The unspoken aim of the game is to get the other person to engage with your chosen news item, thus abandoning their own.