Due to some incredible advances in technology and my total automotive incompetence I’m blogging to you from a train. People have been using computers on trains for twenty years or so, but I’m a technotard so this is all a bit of a novelty. The whole experience is making me feel like one of those executive bankers who claim a six figure bonus each year. I’ve started feeling that wankerish urge to wear shirts with the wrong colour collar and spend thousands of pounds on a bottle of wine, then let everyone know exactly how much it cost.
You’ll probably be reading this long after I arrive in sunny Cornwall, not just because you’re too cool to check my blog but also because I can’t get to grips with the fucking train wireless internet. This unfortunate mechanical hitch means that today’s entry will be Old-Person-Fact-less. I know, I know, I completely understand if you want to stop reading but it’s not my fault, it’s this god awful word processor of mine. Despite receiving a new hard drive and some super protective internet condom software to fend off the computer syphilis it caught a few months ago the Toshiba remains a dusty, overheating dog of a laptop. No wonder I struggle with computers when my own laptop is even more technotarded than I am. Everyone else has those snazzy Mac books, Wankers. They’re meant to be useful for all sorts of design and image manipulation but I have my doubts. I mean they cost over a grand! If you need to change a photograph that much your obviously not a very good photographer. Stupid, over-priced pieces of poser crap. God, I really want one.
After spending a load of time/money in cities you really appreciate the ability to take a deep breath without filling your lungs with warm engine heated air. When you breathe in Cornwall it feels like taking in the oxygen of at least 8 London breaths. The feeling is similar to the one you get after chewing that eucalyptus gum (Airwaves?!). It almost hurts your insides to take in so much clean oxygen. If you live in London you might as well just start smoking twenty a day; it won’t do you more harm than a daily trip on the tube (NOT MEDICAL ADVICE).
The healthy feeling you get in the West Country is actually alarmingly deceptive. Those rosy cheeks you see in holiday snaps are in fact pockets of blood trapped in your face after the clotted cream tea clogs your arteries. I find it really quite amazing that anyone born beyond Bristol is able to get out of bed in the morning. There are so many delicious Cornish and Devonshire delicacies with the ability to leave a consumer incapacitated for up to twelve hours.
Here is a short list.....
Scones
Clotted Cream
Pasties
......I did say it was a short list. OK maybe there isn’t a wide range, but what there is, is amazing. In the five nights I spend in St Erth I aim to put on at least four and a half stone.
Oh yeah they do cheese as well.
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Sand and Sleepers
With graduation done and dusted adult life has truly begun. So far I have ascertained that it’s a tiring old business. I’ve started working full time in a hospital, except that I’m not sure it really counts as working because I don’t get paid. With no income from my job I have been forced to continue my money grubbing benefit claim. The whole situation leaves me in the peculiar position of working for free and being paid to do nothing.
The NHS is good fun. I have been tasked with a number of duties, some are engaging and educational, some are just shit. Part of my job is to go around the wards picking up interesting stories about healthcare, which is kinda cool. Roaming the corridors in search of a scoop makes me feel like Dustin Hoffman in All The Presidents Men (which, if you haven’t seen, you should) or Louis Theroux on a Weird Weekend. However for every hour or so of bad ass independent investigation I get to do, I can expect to spend three hours laminating; swings and roundabouts I suppose.
When it’s your job to barge into wards, invade people’s privacy and ask sick patients or pissed of staff irritating questions you soon get an eye for approaching the right people. In general, I have proved popular with rosy cheeked middle aged/ elderly women and so direct any irksome enquiries their way. On the other hand, sweaty, stressed out working class men seem to have less time for the middle class pipsqueak routine.
Another amazing thing about hospitals is the incredible number of old people found within. If you ever wondered what happens to people after their seventieth birthday then just look in a hospital, either that or Sainsburys on Saturday morning. It turns out that old people tend to be the perfect interviewees, friendly, bored and often captive, they always provide an in depth analysis of hospital life. This ranges from the colour of the walls to why they dislike vegetables. It made me feel bad that I’ve never normally given a shit about what elderly folks say and so from now on I aim to include an “Old Person Fact” in my blog whenever I get the opportunity.
Old Person Fact 1, Old people are among the happiest in China.
The NHS is good fun. I have been tasked with a number of duties, some are engaging and educational, some are just shit. Part of my job is to go around the wards picking up interesting stories about healthcare, which is kinda cool. Roaming the corridors in search of a scoop makes me feel like Dustin Hoffman in All The Presidents Men (which, if you haven’t seen, you should) or Louis Theroux on a Weird Weekend. However for every hour or so of bad ass independent investigation I get to do, I can expect to spend three hours laminating; swings and roundabouts I suppose.
When it’s your job to barge into wards, invade people’s privacy and ask sick patients or pissed of staff irritating questions you soon get an eye for approaching the right people. In general, I have proved popular with rosy cheeked middle aged/ elderly women and so direct any irksome enquiries their way. On the other hand, sweaty, stressed out working class men seem to have less time for the middle class pipsqueak routine.
Another amazing thing about hospitals is the incredible number of old people found within. If you ever wondered what happens to people after their seventieth birthday then just look in a hospital, either that or Sainsburys on Saturday morning. It turns out that old people tend to be the perfect interviewees, friendly, bored and often captive, they always provide an in depth analysis of hospital life. This ranges from the colour of the walls to why they dislike vegetables. It made me feel bad that I’ve never normally given a shit about what elderly folks say and so from now on I aim to include an “Old Person Fact” in my blog whenever I get the opportunity.
Old Person Fact 1, Old people are among the happiest in China.
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