A Bristol Novella

And so actually having a job, or a reason to get up in the morning, other than housework, is actually pretty shit. This week I have started work in an operating theatre, and long story short, it's not half as exciting as it sounds.

My new daily routine is something like this:

0525 am : Wake up
0527 am : After a two minute lay in, walk to the kitchen
0527 - 0532 am : Eat breakfast - Usually carb orientated to ensure that I do not die at the wheel of my car, although this is probably better than actually pretending that you have to work for a living.
0532 - 0541 am : Shower, wash, brush teeth.

Somewhere between 0541 and 0601 am I manage to loose twenty minutes doing mindless things, occasionally exciting myself by doing a few chores. Such as emptying the dishwasher, cleaning the soap dish. Whatever.

Then I drive for an hour to the private hospital, in which I work. Where, signing in at exactly 0700 am, in the little red book, every morning. And changing into scrubs. I then sit down for the best part of two hours. (You'd think being paid to sit down was an all right way to make money. Well it isn't. I'd rather not make any at all, and lets face it, I don't need it.)

From 0900 am and for the rest of the day I usually entertain myself with the small talk of the various nurses, anesthetists and surgeons I work with. Typical questions asked include 'What do you do in the real world?' (you mean to say this isn't a real job?) and 'Are you working full time?'. To which usual the reply is Nothing of interest/Stay at home dad/International sock model/something vaguely entertaining and borderline true and 'No'. Which usually kills conversation, until around 1832 pm when I sign out, and skip off home.