You know what they say about 92-year-old women in wheelchairs. You wait ages for one, and then two turn up together. I had consecutive patients today who arrived within five minutes of each other from two different nursing homes on opposite sides of Brighton, both wheelchair bound, and born within a few months of each other in 1917. Their parents obviously made the most of some home leave from the trenches.
At that age, of course, you're fully entitled to be rude about your carer, so during the liminal ten minutes between eye drops and photos, one of the ladies kindly pointed out her nurse to me and said "She's new. She knows nothing". I politely replied that I'm sure that can't be true, so she helpfully added "And she's agency, so she knows even less". I wouldn't mind, but the girl was standing two feet away. Personally I'd want to keep on the right side of the only person capable of wheeling me home. It's a lesson Amelie would do well to learn before she starts moaning at me in the middle of Aldi.
And on the subject of Amelie, here's what she was up to today while I was helping the aged...
All she needs is a plastic turtle on her head and she can pass for a member of the Village People. Britain's Got Talent, here we come.