I’ll get the ramble out of the way first…
Do I owe anyone email? I have now figured out how to stop Twitter filling my inbox with notifications for every damn thing but until I did that, I was swamped. So-and-so followed you. New message. Someone replied to your tweet. Someone retweeted or favourited.
When I open Twitter there is a tag called ‘notifications’ with a number next to it. Since I can’t respond to any of it until I open Twitter, that’s the point where I want to hear about notifications.
If you send me messages on Twitter don’t be too surprised if I take a while to respond. Their message box is full of spam too – and they’d send me an Email to tell me I had a message which most times turned out to be someone asking me to pay for followers.
What? I am not paying people to follow me. Like it or not like it. Follow or don’t follow. If you follow and decide you don’t like it then you can unfollow. I am not looking for a congregation. I am not the Messiah, just a very naughty boy.
Anyway, the point is that I was swamped with Twitter notifications so if I missed anyone’s email, sorry about that. It’s buried under a huge pile of ‘via Twitter’ ones that will take some time to pick out of the inbox.
Work has returned to the ‘just two of us’ situation that prompted my previous failed attempt at resignation. This time it’s me and Boss so while there’s a lot of work, at least she’s far prettier than Mopman. As for Stimpy, it looks like he’s staying in the Aberdeen shops. Can’t blame him really. He lives in Aberdeen and getting the bus out here would have cost him an hour’s pay every day. Buses ain’t cheap. So the Secret Ninja Cleaners are recruiting and I hope it’s soon because I’m on a seven day week again. The upside is that tomorrow I don’t have the early start.
Turns out that the only reason we left at 6 pm on Saturday and started at 8 pm on Sunday was because Boss used to have nobody who would work until 9 pm on Saturday. We could have fixed this two years ago. I never go anywhere on Saturday nights because everywhere is far too busy and full of drunks. My (pre-smoking-ban) pub nights were always midweek. Tomorrow work starts at 3 pm. much more civilised.
Right. The NHS. They haven’t seen much of me but when they do, they go all out. Just mention ‘smoking’ and you get to go on all the rides. Well, I’ve paid enough NI and tobacco tax over the years to cover the cost of that CT scanner and most of the staff salaries to run it, so I was delighted to get a ride on it. They didn’t show me the images though.
Unlike the WillieCam doctor who had a screen so I could see the inside of my own bladder through a haze of pain. Not many people have seen that. I never thought I would, unless I took an urge to try hara-kiri followed by a sudden interest in what was in there.
The actual doctors and nurses in the NHS are mostly really good. Last time I was in there was a very nice small nurse who offered to help me undress for bed because I could hardly move (morphine does not work on me) but the leer made me decide to just undress myself. It could have become awkward otherwise and I was in no fit state for anything at all. The one who gave me the lifestyle advice was definitely less than 28 years old so she wasn’t born last time I was in a hospital. Life… I think I’m doing it right.
So what is killing the NHS? Lack of money? They have billions. They spend it on lifestyle dictatorship and political maneouvering so the real workers who are trying to do a real job are short of cash. We really should have moved beyond X-rays now that we have CT and MRI but the real doctors can’t have many of those machines because the money is tied up in telling us how to live.
Oh yes, they X-rayed my chest again. They said it was to check for cracked ribs which they had already found by poking them but I know what they were hoping to find. They didn’t find it.
So what is it? What is the disease that the NHS can’t cure itself of?
Turns out it’s the cancer that started the NHS in the first place.