I'll soon be going to Italy with my sister to visit a friend who is currently living out there. This will be my second time visiting Italy. Let's hope it's a little better than the last time I went. First time round I was 15 and on a school trip with the boys from MGS who being boys and 15 -18 all smelt. That trip was memorable however (apart from the dodgy smells emitted from the boys)...I remember we had to climb the stairs to the top of the Sistine Chapel and the boys bet that the girls couldn't get to the top.
So, obviously being MHSG girls we rose to the challenge in a confident manner...and got halfway up before our legs turned to jelly. Literally. But, MHSG will never let you down, and we finally managed to get to the top. And no, I wasn't the last one!
The trip was designed for all the GCSE and A Level art students, so we were all equipped with our art gear and traipsed around the art galleries for much needed inspiration. That's exactly the opposite of what happened as you can imagine. Instead you would see a whole coach load of us sat on the steps of the galleries taking our inspiration from watching the passers by....the rumours are true; MHSG and MGS students although incredibly intelligent and articulate beings, are in fact deep down, dossers.
Saturday, 2 December 2006
Wednesday, 22 November 2006
The wrong side of 20
I woke up in the middle of the night having a palpitation and realising that the big 26 was only a few weeks away. All of a sudden I started thinking, what have I actually DONE with my life. If I were to face my Lord tomorrow - the amount of things that I'm duly proud of having done in my life would take max. 1 minute to express. Maybe less! Not a good sign. But, recognising you have to change things in your life, is one step closer to actually doing something to change. Or that's how I like to justify things to myself.
Whilst at work yesterday, a colleague emailed me to tell me all about her wedding dress fitting. She was very happy with the result, and the dress was going away to be stitched. She then asked me when my birthday was as she'd forgotten, and how old I was going to be. When I told her, her response was 'Samera! 26 is the wrong side of 20!'. Thanks Lucy.
Whilst at work yesterday, a colleague emailed me to tell me all about her wedding dress fitting. She was very happy with the result, and the dress was going away to be stitched. She then asked me when my birthday was as she'd forgotten, and how old I was going to be. When I told her, her response was 'Samera! 26 is the wrong side of 20!'. Thanks Lucy.
Tuesday, 21 November 2006
Silly little bugger
How profound commenters. Although, I don't understand what you're all talking about. I luuuuurrrrve working for the NHS. Despite my whining and moaning, I actually couldn't see myself working anywhere else. Besides, I provide a fabulous patient centred service and am indeed an integral cog thank you very much.
Having just re-read my sentence I've realised I'm blowing my own trumpet a little. Of course I'm not an integral cog; I'm the small cog whose function is rendered useless and thrown out, only to be realised afterwards that it actually WAS necessary. Anyway, the reason why I'm blowing my own trumpet is because my ego-centric friend's influences are travelling through the cyber waves, through my computer to my keyboard, through the sensory receptors in my fingers, then synapsing to my brain to brainwash me. The blame for my behaviour lies entirely with him.
Kids...you either love them or you hate them. Luckily half my week is spent working with them, and I love them. Apart from the ones that smirk at me (when their parents aren't looking) in a very evil manner when they're EVIDENTLY pretending not to be able to do something. Or when they turn around and call me a 'silly little bugger'. Or when they say that I must be very lonely because I don't have children of my own. Or when they crawl under the table and refuse to come out despite my gentle non-authoritarian manner.
Hmm...kids, like I said, you either love them or you hate them.
Having just re-read my sentence I've realised I'm blowing my own trumpet a little. Of course I'm not an integral cog; I'm the small cog whose function is rendered useless and thrown out, only to be realised afterwards that it actually WAS necessary. Anyway, the reason why I'm blowing my own trumpet is because my ego-centric friend's influences are travelling through the cyber waves, through my computer to my keyboard, through the sensory receptors in my fingers, then synapsing to my brain to brainwash me. The blame for my behaviour lies entirely with him.
Kids...you either love them or you hate them. Luckily half my week is spent working with them, and I love them. Apart from the ones that smirk at me (when their parents aren't looking) in a very evil manner when they're EVIDENTLY pretending not to be able to do something. Or when they turn around and call me a 'silly little bugger'. Or when they say that I must be very lonely because I don't have children of my own. Or when they crawl under the table and refuse to come out despite my gentle non-authoritarian manner.
Hmm...kids, like I said, you either love them or you hate them.
Monday, 20 November 2006
Humble beginnings....
With the encouragement of my sister (her persistent nagging more like!) I've finally done it..I've embarked on the Blog journey.
I have to say it was a lot easier than I thought - or perhaps I'm more computer literate than I thought. Either way here I am. Better late than never as they say.
Am I really overworked and underpaid - well, the NHS isn't perhaps the best employer to make your millions, and I suppose choosing a career in Speech Therapy (by total default I might add) adds fuel to the fact that it's not the best paid job in the world. But I sure as hell enjoy it. Most of the time. Occasionally. I didn't today, but that's only because a patient decided to call me Edna, because he said my name was too difficult to pronounce. I wondered afterwards why he decided that I deserved the name given to 70 year old women. Marginally worrying.
I have to say it was a lot easier than I thought - or perhaps I'm more computer literate than I thought. Either way here I am. Better late than never as they say.
Am I really overworked and underpaid - well, the NHS isn't perhaps the best employer to make your millions, and I suppose choosing a career in Speech Therapy (by total default I might add) adds fuel to the fact that it's not the best paid job in the world. But I sure as hell enjoy it. Most of the time. Occasionally. I didn't today, but that's only because a patient decided to call me Edna, because he said my name was too difficult to pronounce. I wondered afterwards why he decided that I deserved the name given to 70 year old women. Marginally worrying.
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