It's been a long day. Which is ironic because we don't put the clocks back until Sunday. I'd like to say I've been up since the crack of dawn, but to be honest, dawn hadn't even started to show signs of damage until I was out of the shower and halfway through breakfast.

Obviously I need a damn good reason to get up that early on a Monday morning, and fortunately I have one. I wanted to make provisions for my retirement. Let's face it, 2040 is nearer than you think. Unless you think it's thirty years away, in which case you're spot on.

My employers, in their infinite wisdom, are proposing changes to the NHS pension. As a result of which, every employee has to attend for an 'interview' (and I use the term loosely) to pick up an information pack explaining what those changes are and how they might be affected. Fortunately they know I'm not much of a reader, so they've made the information available in DVD format for the hard of thinking.

Anyway, I had a slot booked for last Wednesday afternoon to pick up my DVD, but due to an unavoidable mental instability, I completely forgot. I phoned them on Thursday morning, and the only alternative time they could offer me which didn't clash with a clinic, was first thing this morning. By which I mean 7:30 at the hospital.

Fortunately they didn't keep me long. In fact the interview consisted of only one question: "Can you sign here?". I replied "Yes", which was obviously the correct answer because they instantly handed me the DVD and let me leave.

My retirement sorted, I then headed off into the depths of Sussex for an all-day clinic on a building site. At least it felt like it. The health centre I was working at today is currently having their reception refurbished. As a result I've spent the day calling my patients over the deafening sound of hammering, and leading them down a corridor past burly builders with sheets of MDF.

Fortunately, in an attempt to minimise the disruption, the carpenters had set up their workbench outside of the clinic in the car-port. Unfortunately that meant they were right outside my window. But the good thing about talking to patients while a man uses a power-saw three feet from where you're sitting, is that it teaches you to lip-read. By lunchtime I could recognise the word 'cataracts' by sight alone.

But that wasn't the highlight of my day. Oh no. That came just before 11am when the builders decided to turn off the electricity to my room, just as I was photographing an 88-year-old patient with twenty grand's worth of electronic equipment. How we laughed. Well, I laughed. Once the lights went out, and the sawing started, I couldn't tell what my patient was doing.