I presume the sandwich lunch is followed by jelly for dessert. And the speaker's a consultant seismologist. Or possibly a Weeble.
But in more earth-shattering news, I'm now quaking in my boots because I've finally got an appointment to be pumped full of steroids. When I saw the podiatrist last month, he told me that I won't be able to drive home from the needling appointment (possibly because it involves a puncture wound), and that I'll need to rest my foot as much as possible for a day or two afterwards. He then said (in a suspiciously loaded kind of a way) "You work at the hospital, don't you..?"
I think the moment I said "Yes!" in a proud and cheery way, I must have been instantly flagged up on some kind of NHS red-alert list, because having warned my boss that I'll probably need two days sick leave (one for the shooting up, and one for recovery), they've sent me an appointment for Friday the 3rd of June at 6pm. It's like they're deliberately working late, just so that I don't have to take any time off. I'm gutted. I can still spend two days with my feet up, but not at the tax payer's expense.
3 comments:
You'll have to use a wheelchair for the cricket then.
And you can't spend 2 days with your feet up if Amelie has anything to do with it.
Didn't you know they're having to save money? Can't have people being paid for sitting around doing nothing!!
Post a Comment