So, swallowing my terror of mannequins, off I went to do my basic life support training because not doing your mandatory training makes baby jesus cry. Got there and the trainer noticed the limping and I explained I was fine but might not be able to do all the getting down on to the floor stuff with the dodgy ankle but that I really needed to do this training today on account of the weeping deities and all that.
Oh no, she says, you’ll have to go home, you won’t be able to do the practical stuff and I can’t certificate you (pah, you’re the only one who never has then!). I explained there was no other free date before my current certificate expired and that the new Virgin Care policy is that people with madatory training more than three minutes out of date are shot on sight (by jesus I assume). She cared not and said it would be impossible for me to do the training.
I then asked how people who can never get up and down from the floor are trained and she told me this never happens. I suggested that perhaps floor moves were a little much to expect from someone in a wheelchair for example and she glared at me and in scathing ‘you discriminatory bastard’ type tones explained to me that people in wheelchairs are perfectly capable of doing training…………yes that’s my fucking point!!! Could we not put aforementioned creepy puppet soul suckers onto a table for me to minister to, like you would for someone else!
Oh no she says, you have an injury therefore I can’t take the risk of having you in my training session in case it explodes and renders our health and safety policy invalid and the room untidy. I am woman of stone and I have no interest in your imminent demise at the hands of the almighty (Richard Branson in this case).
Faced with no other option I gave in and left…………then I slipped on a wet curb on my way out and went over on the bastard ankle again. Nutsacks 😦
*DISCLAIMER – Comments regarding Virgin Care policy and/or Richard Branson’s homicidal tendencies are entirely fabricated and bear no resemble to actual policies. Please don’t sue me
This Christmas I had a beautiful vision of myself sitting in my immaculate house lovingly handcrafting stunning festive gifts for my amazed and grateful friends and relations. I would be calm and serene, a schmaltzy festive movie on the tv, mulled wine simmering on the stove and love and peace surrounding me. I was to be a paragon of thrift and economy giving of myself rather than mere material fripperies.
Instead, the house looks like the aftermath of a bitter war. Drifts of glitter waft through the house as if several large fairies have exploded in the living room. All about there are piles of knotted yarn and tangled dreams and the echoes of profanities still ring through the eaves (or they would if I had eaves which I don’t, mainly because I’m not really sure what they are).
Far from my idyllic vision, today has seen me wide eyed and sweating, thrusting fistfuls of credit cards at bewildered store holders and screaming ‘TAKE IT!! TAKE IT ALL, JUST GIVE ME THE FUCKING FRIPPERIES DAMMIT!!!
I have no idea what I have bought, who has and doesn’t have a present and frankly I now longer care. Now about that mulled wine………….
So just as I was leaving for work a blizzard erupted. Stomping up the hill to my car swathed in woollens like a grumpy little teddy bear, I was muttering all manner of dark things about car scraping and inevitable traffic chaos. My car battery is on it’s way out and the snowflakes the size of hamsters meant there was a good chance it wouldn’t start and I would be abandoned in a hell of ice and possibly frozen rodents.
Then a door opened and two small children emerged and suddenly lit up with wonder and joy at the sight. Their little faces were all aglow and merry cries of ‘snow’ abounded like it was the first time they’d ever seen it. Shrieks of ‘it’s Christmas!’ soon followed, they were like two tiny Noddy Holders on extra crack.
For a few minutes it really brought the magic back into the festive season
Of course, if my car hadn’t started I planned to harness them to the front like huskies and drive them across the frozen plains of Surrey like it was fucking Narnia