I’d love to say that I have a terribly exciting life. Well, you know, I do, all jet-setting and life-or-death surgery, weeping mothers falling on my neck to thank me for saving their child’s life, nurses mopping my fevered brow and all that. It’s exhausting. No, really. It’s just like that. It’s not an endless drudge at all. I had a study afternoon today, so I made an executive decision and played hooky. Batman and I went for lunch, then bought the poor decrepit man some new jeans. Married life is also exciting. Tonight, I have been mostly ironing. I am also growing some onions, so I wed them and watered the lobelia.

Sunday was exciting, but only if you are a little bit OverThereian. Sarah Harmer was playing in Astro City; I’d bought tickets (forgetting I was on call). For once in my call-life, I was not going anywhere at 8.45pm, so I went to the concert. It was in a shady bar, the location of which I had to look up on the Hindernet. There were thirty people there (I counted). She was amazing. Oh, and then I. Got. To. Meet. Her. I am going to abandon my usual thoughts on overuse of exclamation marks, and say: !!!

In case you missed that: !!!

I also had my photo taken, and she autographed my CD. I am a little starstruck. It was an exciting evening. Much more exciting than work.

I am going back to the ironing. It is nearly bedtime.

This blog is neglected, and I miss it. In some semblance of order, I have:

1. Just about kept my shit together for my sister’s wedding.  But I cried afterwards. I miss her. She lives ten minutes away, but I still miss her.

2. Done a spectacularly forgettable job interview. Well, it was all right, but they don’t quite know what to do with me, and I think I slightly over-egged the I’M SO ENTHUSIASTIC! bit.

3. Worked a big lot. My job is pedestrian in the extreme, as my boss has an unusually mundane caseload. But there’s still a lot of it to go around.

4. Done something I haven’t done for about four years, and arranged to go for coffee with some other females. I am not very good with this kind of thing. Next week.

5. Lost five pounds. And not down the back of the sofa. I don’t know where it went, I’ve been eating chocolate every single day.

…as my Professor not infrequently exclaimed.

I have been shortlisted for the job.

The job is a part-clinical and part navel-gazing-academic post, designed to get people with previous research experience a bit of postdoctoral time. The longterm aim is to end up with a part-academic career, e.g. Senior Lecturer. It’s what I’ve wanted since I came back from Over There. Gosh, but it’s scary, though. I have to do a three-slide, five-minute presentation on “How I would develop my research over the next two years at University of Astro City.”

Erm, I would blog more? Spend more time on the Hindernet? Post some photos? It would be just like old times!

I need to go to bed now, so I can lie awake and fret at the ceiling.

See those bloody trousers! Well, I know you don’t, bezause I’m anonymoose and all that, but pls indulge me. I was out for a bit of Holy yesterday morning, skipping up the car park afterwards and caught Right Toe in Flapping Left Trouser Leg. I sprawled full-length up the gravelly car park.

Ouch!

I thought I’d broken my wrist, I really did.

Ouch!!

Bats and Sister and the Mammy horsed me into the car and I realised I was absolutely fine, apart from a scraped knee, a nastily-jarred shoulder and two slightly gravelly palms. I had to pick out the gravel at home.

Double ouch!

I think the trousers are out to get me…

(For those with an interest, The Mammy has long referred to me as “A Footless Crayter.”)

I bought a new pair of black linen trousers today. I am feeling very summery.

Batman and I went for a two-mile walk, unfortunately interrupted halfway by coffee and a not-very-nice muffin. I did not eat it all, so you know it must have been bad.

My sister is getting married in 2.5 weeks. I am a bit emotional.

The lights are fixed! We can see to pee!

I have applied for a new job (and possibly taken leave of my senses).

I almost fitted into a size 12 skirt earlier. Almost. This is good.

I am very tired, and am on call tomorrow.

Here’s a question for all the Dear Readers: what would you do?
I’m on call, and sneaked out for lunch between hospitals. In the M&S car park beside me, is a car. It’s quite warm, it’s very busy, and there are two young children in the car (approximately 4 and 3 years old). Alone.

We’re in semi-darkness here at Wayne Manor. I was in the powder room the other evening, when there was a POP and some of the lights went out. I say some because:

• One of the three bulbs on the upstairs hall light has fused
• The ceiling lights in the bathroom, the boudoir and the sister’s room have gone out
• The junk room glory hole study ceiling light has also conked out
• All of the plugs upstairs are in working order
• Downstairs all fine (so far)

Bats and I investigated the fuses the following evening. Now, je suis ze Queen of Ze Flatpack, and Ikea is my country. Also, I am liking to be tinkering, and have been known to reseat a tap in my time. However, I have a strict No Electricity rule. It didn’t matter, though, as we couldn’t work out a damned thing.

We have very confusing wiring in Wayne Manor.

There’s one big 30A fuse, several trip switches, and no apparent fuse box like in normal houses. It looks as if the electrics have been jerry-rigged in fits and starts by the good Dr Frankenstein, after several heavy nights on the sloe gin. I am seriously thinking it would be easier to move house than to get to the bottom of this.

So we are persevering in the semi-darkness. Not to put too fine a point on it, in case I stab one of you in the twilight, but the powder room is causing a few problems. We’re using one of Ikea’s finest stick-up battery lights, which doesn’t stick up any more, and only just produces enough light to stop one from peeing on the floor, or on one’s feet. (And yes, it has happened to me at work. It’s so much more revolting when it’s someone else’s pee.) I am in the happy exhibitionist position of not shutting the door at all, whereas Bats and the sister are not enjoying themselves one little bit. I will say this, there’s a lot less clocking in the toilet, presumably ’cause no-one can see their newspaper in there any more. However, the longterm problem of how exactly three people get through quite so much toilet roll is getting worse: now the toothpaste is vanishing. I swear, someone is eating it, and the toilet roll. Mmm. Tasty.

In fact, what a thoroughly nice day I’ve had. Instead of an 8am screech around the ward, I had a lie-in and then hopped on the bus at 9.45am. Fifteen minutes later, I was exercising my mind and my schmoozing gland at a conference for people who’d like to develop an interest in academic medicine. I met my lovely supervising Professor, who inherited me when I came back from Elsewhere.

“Hello, Blade!” he said, shaking hands. ”Hello, Professor!” I exclaimed, for I really was very happy to see him. “Blade,” he said, shaking his extremely knowledgeable head, “Do call me Firstname.” “Ah, Prof, you know I can’t. I’m from a generation where no senior person has a first name – and that includes my aunts and uncles.”

So I had a jolly lovely day, and feel like I am on the cusp of some important decision-making. I don’t just want to be a surgeon, excellent though it is – I’d love to add an academic component, and I am feeling much more inspired to try. We’ll see.

In home life, I had to make some buns tonight. Now, both Bats and the sister were in the house. I was in the kitchen, battering 8 ounces of digestive biscuits into sawdust with a rolling pin. Did anyone come to see if there was an intruder in the house, doing nefarious deeds? Of course not. It is time I got a good barky dog.

It’s been a shite day. All sorts of bad news within our department: bad exams, bad job interviews, bad things afoot among the patients. Bah. And now all the upstairs lights have gone out, I suspect the fuse is to blame, but am too cross to attempt changing it at this time of night. My mojo has gone bleurgh.

The only positive news is that we went shopping for fabric for my Matron of Honour Best Woman Dress (MOH sounds ghastly, I think), and got some rather lovely stuff. In the negative, it’s taking miles of the stuff to cover me, in fact, as much as it would take to upholster a three-piece suite. The healthy eating plan has failed. I am a fat lump.

Bah.

Spending lots of time helping the sister with her wedding arrangements, and thanking my lucky stars that I’m not her. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my wedding and the fella wasn’t bad either, but the arrange-ings were beyond tedious. We’ve printed invitations all day today, with reasonable success, and so all is right with the world. Except that I don’t know how I’ll do without her as a housemate.