I haven’t done one of these for months so time for another. Every time I try to search for them on the work email system they get harder to find so it’ll be a race between publishing them all up to when I “finally” retired from scheduling that first time (October ish of 2018) and losing access entirely and having them vanish into the ether unsung.
I also note I used to be much funnier in the old days. Why?
Subject: A losing wicket
Hi All,
Tried to do my bit for the planet this morning by taking the bus. Did my homework last night, so I knew there was a suitable one I could take right from the end of my street. To my dismay, though, when I got there this morning I found the bus stop hidden behind some road works. I ummed and ahhed for a moment and then decided to approach the problem systematically. The bus wouldn’t stop right in the middle of the road here, so there must be a temporary bus stop nearby. Sure enough, when I looked more closely, 25 metres down the road was a cleared area, surrounded by signs that said “temporary bus stop”. Preening myself on my logic and wisdom, I waited in front of a crowd of people getting their morning coffee, and sure enough, two minutes later, my bus hoved into view. Knowing me, you won’t be surprised to learn that the bus stopped next to the road works and let several people off, and then drove off, the driver waving cheerfully at me as he passed. Imagine my chagrin! The air was blue with F bombs, I can tell you.
Having a better day today would be Bill English, or Buffalo Bill, as no one has probably ever called him. It must be quite a relaxing position to be in, knowing that you’re safe from the sharp knives that old colleagues are waiting to stab into your back. I imagine things may get a little ugly over the next fortnight, as people vie for the poisoned chalice that is the leader of the opposition. Or at least I hope so, for the sake of public entertainment. I first met Bill many years ago at a party of mutual friends. He went to Uni with my husband, so I wasn’t too surprised when he asked me why on earth I was with Simon. I can’t remember what I replied, although as I was newly pregnant with our first child, the answer could probably have been “habit”. I do remember with horror one thing I said, on hearing that he and Mary already had four or five children (that would be Maria, all round wunderkind and genuine nice person, plus assorted brothers), that I myself came from a large family. “Oh, how many?” asked Mary. Well, I was one of five, I said, not wanting to brag. She smiled and nodded, but I can imagine how they must have laughed at my expense that night, chortling into their Horlicks, after I later discovered that they both hail from those Biblically sized families that Catholics are wont to have. Haven’t really seen much of them since then, although Bill is usually pretty good at turning up to occasional cocktail parties, and generally puts up very well with strangers trying to explain the intricacies of the economy to him after a few too many Brandy Alexanders.
I’m a bit nervous, actually, at the number of Simon’s contemporaries retiring early. Murray Harty, anaesthetist extraordinaire and venerable institution at Hawkes Bay Hospital, and classmate of Simon’s, apparently retired recently. I hope Simon isn’t thinking of following suit. I must start telling him some horror stories of previously healthy men, struck down with ennui, boredom, general helplessness and then the inevitable sudden cardiac death, after retiring too early.
On an unrelated note, a minor warning: do not be tempted to discuss personal details when loitering around Fuel. Yesterday I was having a perfectly innocuous discussion with a certain tall orthopod (well, that narrows it down a bit) about how my sore shoulder affects me in bed at night, whilst paying for my two flat whites. Today, my coffee had no sugar in it. Ok, I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but it just might pay to be a little discrete, that’s all I’m saying.
Very much looking forward to the cricket tonight. Was at the stadium for the game on Tuesday which was great fun, although I was pretty disappointed at the low level of manual dexterity on display from one of my erstwhile colleagues. With hands like that, Chris, I can understand why you’ve given up clinical anaesthesia.
Monday
The general surgery service have had serious difficulties sorting themselves out at Kenepuru today, of a similar order to being unable to organize a convivial gathering in a beer making facility. Hence the afternoon of extra preassessment which was supposed to follow a morning GA list has become isolated out there in a fairly hopeless fashion. Never mind.
They have snuck in a plastics list under the radar in the afternoon in OT 13; when I sniffed this out Judy promised me that it was LA only, which was why they hadn’t told me about it. If they ask for a little light sedation I’m denying all responsibility.
Kene theatre lists a shadow of their former selves, see above.
Thursday
Chris H, battered but unbowed, returns for some preassessment cameos this week before returning to clinical duties the following week. Feel free to ask him to explain in more detail about his horrible skiing accident. 9 out of 10 psychotherapists that I haven’t actually surveyed, say that the best way of dealing with traumatic events is to relive it over and over again. Does that sound right?
……
Well, that seems like enough work for one week.
Chinese New Year today, the year of the doggy. Various celebrations are planned around town this weekend. Hope everyone has a nice time. It’s Simon’s birthday today, but with Valentines Day in the same week, we’re going to have low key celebrations. Can’t risk spoiling him.