Well, I've handed back my badge, my gun, and my extra strength drops for difficult patients, and left the hospital for the last time...

Although judging by the amount of farewell cake I've eaten, I'll soon be back there for a gastric band.

My last week has been like a farewell tour across Sussex, taking in Lewes, Uckfield, Burgess Hill and Brighton, and on Wednesday evening I performed my greatest hits to a specially invited audience by giving a 50-minute talk about eye screening to a diabetes support group. They've been looking for some midweek entertainment since The Great British Bake Off finished. It all went remarkably well, and I received a bottle of wine for my trouble, which was an unexpected bonus.

I didn't get home until 10:30pm, but that was partly because I was taking advantage of the Halloween season by stocking up on eyeball cakes at Tesco. I did my last clinic yesterday morning, then spent the afternoon carrying out vitrectomies with a gateaux fork. It was all a bit emoshe, partly because I could see the damage I was doing to my waistline, but mainly because this has been the best job I've ever had, and it's kinda sad to be leaving.

Not that everyone's feeling my pain...

Amelie's currently living it up in St Leonards with her grandparents, but I took the remaining members of my family down to the West Quay after work to drown my sorrows in barbecue sauce and raise a toast to the future with some deep fried onion rings.

Today I'm going trick or treating in London at the Royal College of Ophthalmologists, then returning to Brighton for my leaving drinks. And then, after a six year journey to the posterior pole, it'll finally be job done.

As children, Lisa and I were quiet and reserved, shunning the limelight in favour of the peaceful shadows far away from the centre of attention. Which makes you wonder how we produced this...

Obviously what I was trying to do was to take a photo of the state of our bedroom, as evidence that we need to hire a cleaner. Or a skip. Or possibly just cut our losses and move house. But you can't get out a camera in this place without alerting Amelie's attention-seeking radar. It's like turning on a light in a room full of needy moths.

She can look demure if she wants to...

But it generally takes bribery, timing, and a large slice of luck.

That photo was taken on Thursday for her school's 'One World International Day', where they learnt about different cultures by adopting national dress and playing with toys that were made in China. We were keen for her to learn about exploitation and poverty in the developing world, so we bought her a cheap outfit that was likely to have been made in a sweat shop, while the school made sure her experience was truly authentic by teaching her about world hunger and then serving her curry for lunch. Naturally she refused to eat it, and came home starving.

Before you can say you've been there, done that and got the t-shirt, you need to get the name badge...

It's coming a bit unstuck. Much like myself in a few weeks time.

I've spent most of today trying not to look like a square peg in a round hole at the Oval...

I was stumped by some of the questions I was asked to field, and caught out a few times, but mostly I was just bowled over by the support I received.

Despite not yet being the person my name badge proclaimed me to be, I was invited to spend today at a meeting for all the London eye screening PMs. It was held at the Oval because they share our aim of providing twenty-twenty vision. The big wheel on the Thames would have been good too, but we couldn't all fit in one pod. Although we sometimes go round in circles.

Anyhoo, as one-day matches go, it was all very good, and gave me a lot to aspire to. As well as some e-mail addresses to write to. I've got one week left in my current job, then it's onwards and upwards. The M23, if nothing else.

The biggest story of this week is obviously the news that Bungle from Rainbow will be appearing on the next series of The Voice. I think he's replacing Kylie Minogue.

But that aside, you know you've been in a job too long when every sunrise reminds you of an optic disc...

I'm sensing a slight detachment at the bottom there. Possibly from reality.

Anyhoo, I feel as though I'm currently living in the end times. This morning was the last time I'll be able to take Amelie to school before work (until I get settled in my new job and set my own start time at midday). I'll be in Uckfield tomorrow, and at the Oval cricket ground on Friday, and by the time Amelie's back at school after half term, I'll be watching the sun rise over south London every morning.

Today was my last OCT clinic, and yesterday my last day at Crawley Hospital. It all got a bit emotional, especially when I was presented with this card by the reception staff...

There wasn't a dry eye in the house. Although if there had been, I'd have recommended Viscotears.

Amelie asked Lisa yesterday if she can have our double bed when we die. It seemed like an odd question, as with two young children I feel like we're barely in it, so she might as well have it now. Mind you, she also wants Lisa's Kindle and all my money, so she can't have everything.

If I had more of the latter, I think I'd hire a cleaner to help us find the floor. We shipped Amelie off to her musical theatre class yesterday afternoon, and dropped Toby at Lisa's Mum's, which gave me a clear hour and a half to throw out all their toys. By 5pm I'd filled three sacks with plastic junk, and was on the verge of hiring a skip. I wouldn't mind, but even after removing half a ton of the finest mass-produced tat the factories of China have ever produced, the place doesn't look any different.

The one element of progress I thought I'd made was to reorganise Amelie's jigsaw puzzles, and stack them neatly onto one shelf. A shelf which is well within Toby's reach, and from where he's emptied them onto the floor this morning. I was in pieces. As was Hello Kitty and the cast of Frozen. I think Toby's eaten a couple of bits too.

I'm feeling a particular sense of urgency to get the flat sorted, because we received the new Bits and Pieces catalogue through the door yesterday, and I need to make room for a few essentials, like this beautiful pug Christmas tree bauble...

... and this tree-hugging cow...

Admittedly, before I can get the cow, I'll need to get a tree, but I don't see that as a major problem. You could grow potatoes in the filth under Amelie's bed, so a Giant Redwood should be only a matter of time.

I awoke to this view from our living room window yesterday morning...

That's one reason why I don't plan to move house when I start my new job. The other is this...

Obviously I'd be quite happy to pull Amelie out of the school she loves, but if we leave behind our second floor balcony, it's going to be a complete waste of her Rapunzel hair.

I'm joking of course. That's not Rapunzel hair, it's Frozen hair. She's Princess Anna of Arendelle. If I can just source an Olaf costume for Toby, we'll have the basis of a cheap variety act. I'm hoping Lisa will play the reindeer.

Anyhoo, the highlight of yesterday was getting my annual flu jab, which the nurse took very literally by giving me a sharp blow to the shoulder when I wasn't looking. But pain and torture aside, we also attended the first parents' evening of Year 1 at Amelie's school. It gave me the chance to flick through her work books and ensure that the pictures she's drawn of me are anatomically accurate.

Her teachers (she has two, because you wouldn't want to face her alone) informed us that she's "certainly no goody-goody" (the word "d'uh" sprang to mind), and has a tendency to talk a lot (generally about the shortcomings of others), but that she's ahead of the pack like Mo Farah in a toddler race. Although she prefers croissants to Quorn, and won't walk more than a hundred yards without moaning.

All in all, it was a very decent report, full of praise and admiration. Most of it coming from Lisa. And at the end of it all, the teachers stated confidently that they're going to enjoy teaching Amelie for the next year, which is the kind of blind optimism I admire in a much maligned profession. We'll see if they've changed their minds by Christmas.

I think this is one rap battle I definitely won...


Word to your mother.

This has appeared on the master copy of the October rota at work...

As an omen, it doesn't bode well, but I think it's there to indicate that by the end of this month I'll have gone to a better place. Possibly with a few angels. And hopefully more cake.

Much like David Moyes before me, I'll be taking over one of the top jobs at the start of November. And aiming to hang on to it long enough to buy a few Christmas presents. The past six weeks have been a whirl of interviews, presentations and meetings, but I think it's now all official. Although I still haven't signed my contract. Mainly because I can't find a pen.

Inevitably, other areas of my life have suffered terrible neglect, and in addition to having no time to play Candy Crush, the flat looks a lot like this...


"Oh my gosh" is exactly what I'd be saying in that situation.

Ordinarily, I'd suggest that my own children are capable of far worse behaviour than that, but very occasionally, once in a blue moon, and with the wind in the right direction, the stars align to produce the kind of immaculate sibling interaction that makes me think they might not end up killing each other after all...


Admittedly, they were eating a chocolate cornet right after having a bath, which isn't what you'd call ideal, but the fact that the combination of one ice cream and two children didn't end in tears is something of a miracle.

That aside, the highlight of this week was Thursday, which began at 5:30am with this view from our balcony...

It was World Sight Day, so the fact that I was able to see that was quite appropriate, and a reminder not to take my eyes for granted. Even when all I want to do is close them.

Fortunately I managed to stay awake long enough to get to London for the annual Moorfields Diabetic Retinopathy Screening Training Alumni Day. That's obviously quite a mouthful, which is more than I can say for their sandwiches. If small is beautiful, they were stunningly gorgeous.

But that aside, it was an excellent day, mostly due to the company, and partly due to the speakers. I discovered that I suffer from Retinophilia by Proxy, and ended up with a LinkedIn request from someone I hadn't even spoken to. You can't ask for much more than that.

The best news, however, is that a week after her 6th birthday party, Amelie has told us what she wished for when she blew out her candles:

Glasses. I think my job's having some kind of effect.

Today, I will mostly be here...

I've looked it up on Google Street View, just in case I can't find one of the tallest buildings in London.

It's been months in the planning, took a morning of frantic preparation, led to an afternoon of total chaos, and has left two parents shattered like a broken mirror (which is just my luck), but finally, and with much relief, the party is definitely over...

And we're not doing it again next year. Amelie can celebrate her 7th birthday alone at the nearest library. The only friends she needs are a set of phonics books and an hour of golden silence. I'll give her a quid for a bag of chips, and she can sing Happy Birthday to herself on the way home.

This year, however, was slightly different. Her actual birthday was spent arresting a mermaid...

Although a little out of plaice, the sole fish outfit looked good, but salmon else cod probably do batter.

So having celebrated Amelie's 6th birthday on Thursday with one friend and a cake, we upped the stakes yesterday with a party for twenty, and enough food to feed an army. Lisa was a bit concerned that the cake looked like something out of the Black & White Minstrel Show...

... but I reassured her that no one would think it was racist once we set fire to those crosses and stamped another two sixes on the forehead.

Fortunately the banners were slightly more tasteful...

The day had started well for me, when I was forced to spend fifteen minutes on the phone to a chap from Virgin Media, complaining that we'd suffered a sudden catastrophic breakdown of both our TV and broadband services, only to discover, after exhausting all other lines of enquiry, that Toby had got behind the TV and turned off the switch at the wall. That was slightly embarrassing.

More embarassing, however, was the phone call I took from the local priest at 11:40am, reminding us that we were supposed to pick up the key to the church hall at 11 o'clock, and he couldn't wait any longer. I had to confess that we were running a bit late, and ask for forgiveness, but I don't think he was too happy.

Fortunately we were soon decorating the hall, and taking phone calls from the party entertainer, who was stuck in traffic somewhere north of Brighton. We'd booked a lady who does children's dance parties, and frankly it was money well spent. You only have to take one look at a hall full of twenty hyperactive five-and-six-year-olds to know that you want to be involved as little as possible. It was a pleasure to hand over responsibility to a professional.

The lady arrived in time, and was soon captivating the group with a few party games...

Toby proved to be rubbish at musical statues...


... but to say he enjoyed himself would be an understatement. He was in the thick of it at all times, running, jumping, dancing, pointing, laughing, screaming and generally having the time of his life...

He kept it up for about three hours straight, then suddenly crashed...

But fortunately Big Sis was there to catch him as he fell. She looks like she's baptising him with a cup of tea.

With Toby out of the way, the girls were free to practise their Frozen dance routine...


... before tucking into the home-made party food boxes, which had been painstakingly prepared by hand that very morning by a veteran of the children's party scene, my Mum. She'd been up since 5am making sandwiches, so by mid-afternoon she felt like Toby.

The food was gone within minutes...

... and we were soon creating the after-dinner entertainment by way of a Spice Girls tribute act...

Amelie's always been posh and sporty, so I'm not sure where that leaves the others, but by heck, they could sing...


I think we were all on the floor by the end...

Some more than others. Frankly, I'm a broken man, and Lisa's checking into rehab as we speak. I think our partying days are over.

It's been six years, and my arms are aching...

I thought I was tired back then, but she's taught me that I had no idea what the word meant.

Happy Birthday, Amelie! xxx