Wednesday 10.06.13 in which I debate whether Gallifreyans can change sex and other guff.

Hello, Readers.

I don’t know whether it is the news of the dubious future of Xanga, where I have had a presence in one form or another, for over a decade, but I have not had an inclination to write anything at all. That’s not to say that I haven’t garnered subjects in my head from time to time, but when it has come to the act of pressing fingertip to key I have found it impossible to be motivated. There is no connection between what is in my mind and the wish to see it in printed word forms on a screen.

So, let’s steer clear of the Xanga debate except to day that I have set up a place at WordPress, which seems okay, but which I have yet to use properly, and turn to more pressing matters such as who will take over from Matt Smith in “Doctor Who” now that he has announced that he is to regenerate in the Christmas episode. Speculation in the media is rife and, of course, the old “will it be a woman?” subject has raised it’s gnarled old head again just as it has ever since Tom “Fourth Doctor” Baker mischeviously wished his successor great success “whoever he, or she, might be…” The Doctor can not regenerate into a woman. There are Time Lords and Time Ladies: if a Gallifreyan character is “born” as a male then he stays that way throughout his regenerations. Similarly it seems, through the show’s long history, that if a Time Person is “born” white he or she stays white, if they were black or oriental in their first persona then they remain so through their regenerations.

Should show-runner Stephen Moffat experience some sort of mental flip and cast a woman, then I will stop watching the series. That’s not me being sexist, that’s me being loyal to a character: the Doctor may look and act differently each regeneration, but he is in essence the same person at heart(s). There is no Trill-like symbiotic presence to bond with a different host (and how strange that on-screen Dax managed to bond with two pretty females in swift succession rather than a middle aged man as previously but never seen.) Years ago I stopped watching when Colin Baker was cast as the Sixth Doctor because the character was so altered as to be a different person. It didn’t last; the Sixth Doctor mellowed and in the subsequent audio stories from Big Finish is much more Doctor-y and as Colin Baker would always have preferred to play him.

So, who will play HIM when he regenerates? Many names have been bandied about and the BBC have denied the Sunday Telegraph’s claim that they offerred the part to Rory Kinnear, recently seen in “Skyfall.” Personally I’d love it if it was Russell Tovey, but I suspect he wouldn’t want to be tied to one part for so long. My speculation is that it might be one of the two male leads from the recently-cancelled Merlin, perhaps Bradley James, who played Arthur or Colin Morgan, who portrayed Merlin himself. In my opinion Bradley James, although very handsome, is not a good enough actor to bring it off. He’s a perfectly serviceable actor, but I don’t see enough depth in his performances to bring to a character like the Doctor whereas Colin Morgan has that slight other-worldliness that Matt Smith has and the acting skills to go with it. I’m unlikely to be right in any case. Despite the fact that the media is reacting to the news as though Smith rang the BBC one morning and said, “Well, lads, it’s been fab but I’ll only do up to Christmas,” the reality is more likely to be that he gave his notice in many months ago and that the Twelfth Doctor has already known who he is for a very long time.

What may happen to the character in his twelfth incarnation? The series has a tradition that as Gallifreyans proceed through their regenerations they are prone to corruption and the likelihood that they will become evil versions of their former selves. Indeed, this has already been seen with the Doctor himself: the character of the Valeyard during the “Trial of a Timelord” series in the 80s turned out to be a baddie-future-regeneration of the Doctor. The Valeyard was even mentioned in the last episode of the most recent series as the Doctor and Clara had to confront all the past versions of himself. And then there’s the sticky situation regarding the number of regenerations that a Time Lord has. In the 1996 the Eighth Doctor (Paul McGann) states that a Time Lord has 13 lives. This means that the next time he changes should be the last time – after that he will die when his time comes. But, lest we forget, we are in the realms of science-fiction where anything can, and does, happen. During the action of “The Five Doctors” the Time Lords promise the evil Master another regeneration cycle if he helps them (and he’s already been through, and rather gruesomely beyond, his generation cycle and is then inhabiting someone else’s body.) If the programme is still making money for the BBC and still gaining success around the world (especially in the US) then it won’t be the Time Lords that grant the Doctor a prolonged existence, it will be the Grand Council of the British Broadcasting Corporation.

Let us leave the fantastic worlds of science fiction and television behind and return to reality.

Today Drew has driven up to Birmingham to attend the funeral of his uncle, his father’s twin, who died a couple of weeks ago. He looked very smart, driving away in his suit trousers and a tie, but although he will get to see some relatives he rarely sees and one of his nieces who he adores, naturally it is not an experience he is relishing. Since his parents died he finds funerals very difficult. I hope he is okay, but he will be home tonight and we spoke (eventually after various phone problems) when he had just reached Birmingham. The Girls are behaving better than I had hoped in his absence; Charley has spent most of the morning asleep, which is usual for her because she’s not a morning girl, while Lola has not been as hysterical as she sometimes is. I think this is because I’ve been busy doing houseworky things and Lola has followed me about so she hasn’t had time to dwell on Drew not being here. Long may this continue, because there are times when her neurosis is hard to cope with without losing your temper.

We had a very nice weekend. I had both Saturday and Sunday off work, which was good. Our neighbour, a lovely lady, was having an “open day” at her house on Saturday, which she has recently sold. We assumed this was so that her (many) friends could pop in to wish her farewell but it turned out it was actually her 70th birthday too. After doing some much needed shopping we and The Girls took a good luck card and a bottle of wine and knocked on her door.

I always find it awkward to meet new people, although I get over it fairly quickly, but the arrival of the Girls elicited more attention than we did. Lola was very over-excited and wanted to meet everyone all at the same time, so I had to hold her on my lap until she had calmed down. Charley was not at all sure and did not really relax. Unfortunately she took against our hostess’s sister, why we will never know although she does possess a passing resemblance to both the woman who cuts the dogs’ hair and my Mum’s cousin, who Charley has never liked. But this dislike of the sister extended to Charley trying to nip her on the leg as she walked past even though she (Charley) was sitting on Drew’s lap. She has never tried to bite anyone before! Fortunately this incident was laughed off by everyone except Charley who did settle but not without keeping her eye on her perceived nemesis and the occasional grumble. We took them home in the end, though, which Lola was cross about but which meant we were able to relax.

In the end, having been wary of feeling a little out of place, we out-stayed everyone save the sister who was staying there and got home, slightly merry but the right side of a bowl of soup each, after midnight! It had been a very pleasant evening indeed, and nice to meet lots of new people despite my shyness.

Sunday was not the bright and sunny day my parents had hoped for as they had invited the two of us, the Girls and my brother’s family round for lunch to celebrate Mum’s birthday earlier in the week. Disappointingly my sister-in-law wasn’t well enough to come but the rest of us managed to enjoy ourselves. The original intention had been to eat outside, but the chill put paid to that so Mum layed out a buffet lunch in the dining room and we all trooped in and out as often as our appetites required. It was a lovely spread, of course, and I ate far too much. I’d like to think that the walk some of us then took in the nearby park wore off some of the extra calories, but I doubt it. (It was during this walk that my youngest nephew sagely informed his older sister that if anyone should be able to pooh in their trousers then it would be Father Christmas, because he’s magic and he could magic himself some clean ones on!)

Dad, my brother and my oldest nephew stayed behind to watch some sport or other on telly, so it was Mum who accompanied the other two to the playground in the park while Drew and I took the dogs for a walk. We met up after about 40 minutes and strolled back to the house for “surprise” birthday cake (that everyone knew about, particularly Mum as she had bought it) and some drawing and colouring in before Brother decided it was time get back to Sisterinlaw. Drew and I stayed for another hour but then left Mum and Dad to watch the Montreal Grand Prix in peace, and came home for tea.

Work-wise things are much better. Finishing at half one in the afternoon is bliss and so far I’ve been asked to go in early for all my late shifts, so I’ve been finishing at a reasonable hour. After today I have 5 shifts in a row, but I really don’t mind about that. I have learned two relevant, and interesting facts this week: another hospital is reviewing its 12 hour shifts on its elderly wards and the one ward where the Matron claims everyone is happy with the new shifts is not happy at all: I worked with woman yesterday who left after 6 months on there so she could return to working short shifts on the pool who informed me that the staff on there are anything but happy! Of course, as we suspected, the three month trial period has not resulted in anything and in fact has been extended to six months! And “they” wonder why we don’t trust them.

Ah well. I’m going to try posting this on WordPress as well.


Fears and anxiety. And Doctor Who.

Weekend Greetings, Dear Readers.

I’m afraid that my blog has become a bit of a therapy session for me. At the moment it’s the only place that I can say how I feel about stuff. I just don’t feel able to talk about my anxieties to anyone, really. In fact to be this anxious at all seems like an admission of failure to me. I haven’t resumed having panic attacks or experienced any agoraphobia like I used to, but when I think about what it will be like when I return to work, or if my hearing doesn’t recover, or what would happen if I lost my job because my health makes me too much of a liability then I feel my chest get tight and my breathing rate increase and I want nothing more than to run to bed and hide. Like I used to.

Yesterday morning I ventured out of the house for the first time in 3 days. In fact, neither of us has been out for ages since Drew isn’t well at the moment, either, so we needed supplies of bread stuff (and tea bags because I’ve been off coffee since I was ill.) So I girded my loins, dug some money out of the holiday petrol money Doctor Who tin and set for the local Co-op round the corner.

Walking out in the street with impaired hearing is a weird experience. It made me very aware that although I CAN hear, I would not be able to hear a car approaching from the right so I was very wary crossing the road, weirdly more wary than when I’m wearing earphones which means I can’t hear anything at all. I’ve always been road-crossing-wary since I was little, anyway, and I’ve always been able to judge the distance and speed of an oncoming vehicle without a problem but getting used to this new limitation on my senses is going to take a while.

Once I was in the Co-op I found it very hard to concentrate properly. With just the one ear working it’s impossible to distinguish the background noises from one another, or to judge how far away the source of that noise might be. The sound of the fridge unit motors, the chatting of the other customers, the rumble of the traffic outside and the roaring in my right ear combined into one single loud noise which was a little alarming. When I got to the counter I had to concentrate really hard on what the girl at the till was saying and then found it impossible to judge how loudly I was speaking when I replied to her. I this what it’s going to be like from now on?

Even within the house things have changed. Not only could I not hear Drew calling to me from the front room when I was in the kitchen with the kettle on but later when the television was on and I was concentrating on reading something online I wasn’t aware that he, only a foot or so away from me, had been talking to me. I found myself doing that thing of pretending I had heard which used to do annoy me when my Grandad did it to me, but I was caught out in this because my reply made no sense as a response to what Drew had said.

This morning I have done some washing and am now drying it in the tumble dryer, which means those machines have been the soundtrack to everything I’ve done almost since I got up. Alarmingly the roar of the washing machine made me feel dizzy as I climbed the stairs; the sound of it in the enclosed space of the stairwell is rather loud and obviously bounces from the walls to enclose you as you move through that narrow space but the lack of that sound in one ear had a similar effect within my head to having a bannister removed suddenly from my right hand side and I lurched in that direction as I moved up the steps. (Actually, we don’t have bannisters, but I’m sure you know what I mean.) And now I’m playing classical music, as I like to do on a Sunday morning, from iTunes on my laptop through the speakers in the front room but the clatter and low-level whirr of the dryer is dominating everything else despite being two rooms away and I can barely discern the music at all other than stabs of high-pitched strings. Admittedly I don’t have it on very loudly as I am a considerate neighbour, but normally I would have been able to hear it properly. It seems that rather than getting used to it I am finding that everyday is throwing at me yet another thing that my impairment has spoiled. Plus the sensation of there being pressure in my ear seems to have increased a little – I feel as though if it were to “pop” when I yawn or swallow, something would come pouring out just as if I had been swimming or in the shower.

Frankly, it makes me want to weep. But am I being melodramatic? People suffer worse things than I have when they become ill, indeed I could have been affected in both ears which I rather think would have got me some more urgent treatment and may well have meant the cancellation of the already-paid-for and necessary-for-my-sanity holiday to Wales. (And even now I’m worried that I will be told that postponing treatment would be a bad idea, which would affect the trip adversely.) Yet in the space of 5 or 6 days I have learned how detrimental this loss has been to my enjoyment of things that are important in my life.

Anyway, on a more positive note the sun has been shining all day, in contradiction of the weather forecast that was for sunny spells but mostly cloud and later we are going over to Mum and Dad’s for a meal. The Girls haven’t had a walk for FOUR days, so they will go mad at being in Mum and Dad’s garden where they love to play and just run and run and can do so without supervision, which is lovely for them. And us.

We’re having a therapeutic watch of an old Doctor Who story, “Pyramids of Mars,” with Tom Baker as the 4th Doctor and the much-missed Elisabeth Sladen as Sarah-Jane Smith first broadcast in 1975. It’s like covering yourself in a comfortable old blanket. On the subject of Doctor Who, last night’s new episode on BBC1 was the best of this new run so far. Very creepy in parts, with some nice in-jokes about the 1970s, a great performance from Matt Smith and a very funny scene with new companion Clara and the TARDIS not getting on very well at all. Oh, and a nice pay-off at the end. Well constructed from start to finish. I should imagine quite a few children had to have the light on when they went to bed.

Okay. Enough of this maudlin self-indulgence. More soon.





Sickness and sweating. And Daleks.


Good grief, readers. It has been a rough few days.

I did, indeed, have an early night as I wrote about in my last entry. Drew had dug out some old pillows so that I could prop myself up in bed in the hope that I wouldn’t experience so much coughing and after a bit of plumping them about I did get them into a vaguely comfortable position. I wasn’t able to fall asleep straight away so I watched a couple of TV programmes on the BBC iPlayer on my Kindle Fire (which I’ve used SO MUCH since I bought it) until I realised I was dozing off and not taking anything in.

I’m not sure what time it was when Drew and the Girls came to bed; I don’t remember them coming into the bedroom, so I must have been well out of it. I was certainly weary. Something woke me up about 2am. Unusually it wasn’t one of the Girls shifting about on the bed or getting down to have a drink, it was my stomach alerting me that I needed to get to the loo… RIGHT NOW.

I’ll spare you the details, I’m sure you can imagine, suffice to say that at work we record patients’ bowel movements on a scale of 1 – 7 with Type 1 being extremely hard but I needed an extension of that to Type 9! By now I had begun to sweat profusely and I knew I was going to be sick as well. I had taken my iPod with me to try and distract myself from the discomfort but I had couldn’t bear having the noise, so I discarded it and let nature take its course. As a rule vomiting makes me feel better, but on this occasion it did not, in fact I felt worse and worse. I stripped off the clothes I had dragged on because I knew the bathroom would be cold as the heating was off in an attempt to cool down and as rough as I felt I forced down some water, When I knew everything had settled down for a while I chucked my dressing gown and some piled up clothes on the floor and lay down. The pain in my belly was excruciating and the sweating was worse than ever and I can remember my mind racing, meaning I was feverish. I entertained the idea of getting Drew to call me an ambulance to get me to the hospital, convinced I was seriously ill. Two things stopped me doing this; the first being that even in my feverish state I couldn’t bear the idea of being one of those people who get rushed to hospital for something that turns out to be a tummy bug (or, come to that, one of those hospital employees whose experience of illness without any medical knowledge means that they assume the worst everytime they fall ill) and the second being that I simply wasn’t able to stand and walk the short distance along the landing to the bedroom.

I must have lain there for sometime, still sweating but not getting cold. Everything ached. When I did eventually force myself to stand up, because I needed to get on the toilet again, the muscles in my shoulders, arms, back and legs felt as though I had knitting needles sticking into them. Movement was uncomfortable.

In the end, of course, I was able to leave the bathroom. When I got to the bedroom Lola was scratching on the other side of the door. I took her downstairs to go out into the garden and stood by the backdoor letting the cold night air cool me down a bit (I had re-dressed by then.) Lola was very good and came back in without being called and we both went back upstairs. I woke Drew who was concerned and asked if I wanted anything. I said no but that I had to ring work to say I wouldn’t be able to go in. I went back downstairs to do this – I think I know who I spoke to; a nurse I used to like but who I’ve gone off since she had to do a nightshift on our ward about 18 months ago when clearly she didn’t want to. She didn’t sound convinced, but I don’t care, frankly.

Then it was back to bed for a while. I spent the rest of the night bouncing between the bathroom and the bedroom. Not exactly restful. At least the coughing stopped. For a bit.

On Wednesday afternoon Drew was good enough to go to the chemists, which is just round the corner from our street, to pick up the nasal spray the doctor had prescribed. He also bought a thermometer, the sort you can use orally. My temperature was 38.1, which at work would be enough to trigger some concern – it must have been much higher during the night. My appetite was non-existent, so all I could manage for breakfast was one Weetabix with lots of milk and a packet of Quavers for lunch. I managed about a third of the tea Drew made before I gave up. And I drank gallons of sweetened decaff tea and water.

Since then I’ve continued to feel a little better. Fortunately Thursday and today are officially my days off, so I’ve been able to lay around without feeling too guilty (because thanks to my upbringing my work ethic makes me feel I ought to be at work even with bits of me hanging off.) I still have to ring into work, though, which is annoying, so that they have a record of my illness. I am due in tomorrow, though, for a long day, but I don’t think I’ll be going even if I feel much better. Sometime ago I returned to work when I thought I was well enough only to be sent home during the day. This meant that officially the next few days were counted as a separate period of sickness and my “sickpoints” were increased by a ridiculous amount. Unfortunately this will be my third period of sickness within the 6 months you are “allowed,” so chances are I’ll be penalised for it. Still, if you’re ill, you’re ill and I’m damn sure no one would want me spreading my germs about the already poorly patients. It’s a no-win situation.

I expect I’ll be filed under the “ill due to the new hours” collective. In the three weeks since the new hours began about 8 members of staff have been off sick for one reason or another (and one of the nurses has threatened to quit.) Up until now our ward hasn’t been too bad for sickness when compared to others, but suddenly we’re right up there with the “best” of them.

I’ve been communicating with some of my work friends via Facebook, which is how I gleaned the information about the number of people who have been off sick. According to one of the ward’s senior nurses it is suddenly being bandied about that the new hours are a 3 month trial. This is something new, and I’m not sure I believe it although I believe her (she is probably the most trustworthy of everyone working on our ward.) I’m sceptical because I don’t believe Them At The Top would ever admit they’ve made a mistake and I’m inclined to believe it’s just an announcement to lull us into thinking we don’t need to complain because they’re bound to end it. Perhaps I’m too cynical, I’m not sure. Previous experience tells me to fear the worst.

So right now it’s Friday afternoon. Drew is at my parents’ helping them prepare a bedroom for decoration. I’m watching some old Doctor Who (Planet of the Daleks from 1972) on the iPlayer and thinking to myself I really ought to go and get the washing out of the machine – I’ve done some bedclothes so we can have fresh stuff on. It’s always a nice feeling to have clean bedclothes but even more so when you’ve been ill. I’m also peckish for the first time in days, but I’ve already looked through the cupboards and there’s absolutely nothing that takes my fancy at all. When recovering from gastric flu in the past I have tended to fixate on one foodstuff, boiled egg and toast, or boiled rice or (believe it or not) curry, but this time I can’t think of anything at all.

Oh well, I’d better go and sort out the washing. Bye for now.

Agnetha, anger & accents. And Doctor Who.

Hello Readers.

Yesterday was the appalling day I feared it would be. I can’t bring myself to write about it save to say that I feel miserable and not a little angry that because of a decision made by non-medical managers and without any consultation the job I love has become hateful. I have to work the same tomorrow while today I must nurse (ha!!) the aches and pains and the resentment that yesterday’s shift has caused. Oh and I have the joy of doing it all again tomorrow.

And so to other subjects.

Today I am mostly watching old episodes of “Doctor Who” and listening to Agnetha Fältskog. Over the past few days Drew and I have watched some DW from the early Seventies, when Jon Pertwee played the Third Doctor including the re-mastered four part story “Day of the Daleks” DVD. It’s re-mastered in that you can choose to watch it with the original, rather dated effects intact or the newly freshened version with new state-of-the-art effects, some very short newly shot scenes, some scenes re-ordered and the Daleks themselves re-voiced by the actor who currently provides their voices in the modern resurrected series. In those days the stories were four parts, sometimes six parts long rather than the 45 minute episodes of today and while they could sometimes be a little slow in their pacing, particularly the episodes from the Sixties, it allowed there to be far more plot and character development than nowadays. These days the Doctor and his friends tend to land somewhere and just get on with things with the action wrapped up by the end of the 45 minutes, which sometimes seems to be a bit too rushed. The Christmas episode of 2011 may have been longer than the average episode but I thought it a bit of a mess, frankly, as though a movie-length story had been edited down to half it’s original length with much that would have established the back story lost. (Last Christmas’s episode was far, far more successful but unusually it played a big part in the on-going series rather than being the usual stand-alone episode.

Today we are watching a Tom Baker story from the 1981 series, “The Keeper of Traken.” It introduces a new companion, Nyssa, re-establishes the Doctor’s nemesis, The Master and starts the series of stories that will see the Fourth Doctor regenerate into the Fifth, played by Peter Davison. Tom Baker looks older, tired even, and I think you can see his distaste for the storyline, which is suffering from much padding and for the actor who plays (rather amatuerly) his current companion, Adric. (It was well documented that they didn’t really get on.) It would be nice, but sadly inaccurate to infer that the TARDIS policebox prop is symbolically looking sad and tired itself to indicate that the end of the Fourth Doctors’ reign is nigh but in reality it was just starting to fall to bits after years of use. Criticisms aside, though, the supporting cast is very good, the costumes excellent and despite being clearly studio-bound the scenery is great considering the low budget and the limited amount of sets they could build.

This year is Doctor Who’s 50th Anniversary. Incredible. Speculation is rife about the content of the episode which will mark the anniversary. Will any of the actors who have played the role and who are still alive appear? Will any of the companions from the past 50 years and who are still with us appear? Sadly the last two years saw the deaths of three previous “Who Girls” as the tabloids like to call them at ridiculously young ages. And which of the redoubtable Time Lord’s many enemies will pop up to trouble him? Being the continuity Queen that I am I hope all the Doctors appear, of course.

Agnetha Fältskog was one quarter of ABBA, the blonde, and I have been inspired to listen to her solo stuff today having seen some pictures of her on the Popjustice website, published as part of an article about her new album which is due to be released later this year. I have to admit that while I think Agnetha is pretty amazing and that her voice was as beautifully crystal and pitch-perfect on her 2004 album “My Colouring Book” as it was on her recordings from the Sixties my preference is for the voice of her bandmate Anni-Frid (the other A of ABBA) and whose solo output I listen to far more often. Frida, also blonde these days but previously a rather fiery redhead following a brunette period, was originally a jazz vocalist and her lower-pitched, “smokey” voice appeals to me more than Agnetha’s. I am drawn to female vocals more than male and reckon that a good 90% of my music library has female vocalists on it.And if they have an accent of any kind (other the generic American which everyone adopts) then I am a goner.  Apart from Agnetha and Frida I often listen to Scottish singer Eddie Reeder, and even Garbage’s singer Shirley Manson’s Scottish accent isn’t lost on their records. Kylie Minogue’s earliest albums have just a hint of Austalian accent on them. I love her anyway even accentless. “Smokey” voices I adore include Karen Carpenter (listening to her is like aural chocolate,) kd lang, Ella Fitzgerald and most definitely Julie London. Every now and then I stumble across a Julie London track I’ve not heard before and it’s a bit like an antique dealer finding a previously undiscovered treasure.

Back to Agnetha and I have got all her solo stuff, English and Swedish, playing in a shuffled playlist on iTunes and it is remarkable how her voice has lost nothing from the Sixties, through the Seventies and Eighties into the new century. If anything her phrasing is more precise. Back to the Sixties and her Swedish version of “I Don’t Know How To Love Him” from Jesus Christ Superstar, in which she performed the role of Mary Magdelen, is entrancing. Scroll forward to the Seventies and her Swedish version of the ABBA hit “S.O.S.” (basically the ABBA version in a very, very slightly different arrangement and with Agnetha also singing Frida’s backing vocal parts) is sublime. Jump to 2004 and her take on “If I Thought You’d Ever Change Your Mind” makes me tingle. Perhaps I ought to listen to her more often than I do.

Well, that’s enough for now. Time for me to go and make some lunch. I’m not sure what’s in the cupboards but I’ll rustle something up.

Laterz (as the kidz say.)

Hot as Honolulu!

Good GRIEF it’s been hot here over the past few days. Yesterday (Sunday) a village not too far from here recorded temperatures hotter than Honolulu (and the local BBC news programme has been banging on about it all day – well, I suppose that means they’re not trying to find yet another spurious local link to the British triumphs at the Olympics.) 

You would have thought that when they built the part of the hospital I work in during the Seventies the planners might have thought have putting in air conditioning, particularly as the windows don’t open fully so that patients can’t jump or fall out of them (and they do try from time to time.) But they didn’t, so we’ve been sweltering away in our uniforms and the patients have been listless and hot. The more modern parts of the hospital site DO have air conditioning, but I rarely venture into those areas. Some wards wear scrubs, which are made of a much thinner material than our uniforms, and I envy them tremendously at the moment. 

It could be a coincidence but my weightloss has suddenly sped up a little after several weeks of remaining rather settled at a couple of pounds over 16 stone. But in the past week I have lost about 2 and a half pounds and this afternoon, when I got home from work, I weighed myself and for the first time for about ten years I am under 16 stone!! 15 stone, 13.4 pounds to be precise. This means I have lost 39 pounds since I started noting my weight loss in March which means I have lost even more than that as I actually began to be more careful in January! And it hasn’t been too difficult if I’m honest, just a matter of watching what we buy and eating smaller portions. 

VERY excited about the new series of Doctor Who. It’s leading in to it’s 50th anniversary in 2013 and rumour has it there will be an episode with several past Doctors in it – there have been eleven incarnations so far and although several of the actors who have portrayed him are now dead I’m sure there are ways and means of getting around that with the technology available to the BBC. This new series will see the departure of Amy and Rory Pond, the current incarnation’s companions and according to the show’s producers this farewell be heart-rending, something the updated series has been extremely good at. There will be deaths, they say… And this series kicks off with a massive adventure involving the Daleks, which looks spectacular in the trailer which may or may not embed above.

Anyway, only a short entry as it’s too hot down here and I think I’m going to go up to the bedroom where we have our lovely big fan facing the bed!!