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Jun 13

18% lesbian

Posted on Monday, June 13, 2016 in Philosophy, Something to think about

This topic has cropped up once or twice while on duty. It’s not unusual for me to spend a great amount of hours trapped in the cabin of an ambulance with a male co-worker, but the beauty of this is that there are never awkward silences. We can enjoy silence in each other’s company without the need to talk, and I love that about this strange little family.

Occasionally though, especially during charity 10K runs, the male in my company will make lewd comments about ladies running past (boing! boing! boing!), and I will see him, and raise him an inappropriate comment. I love that they feel confident enough to do this in front of me, for I am not a feminist at all… IN FACT there was that beautiful conversation I had once with a co-worker when I revealed to him that I am in fact 18% lesbian.

This baffled him.

He wondered how I had such a precise figure. So I explained:

(And I highly recommend that you do the same for it is very liberating)

All you need to do is take the attractive aspects that you find in both males and females, add them up, then divide one into the other. Every figure is different for everybody but I assure you that NONE OF US is 100% heterosexual.

In my opinion…

MEN have penises. That’s fucking handy, if you’ll excuse the pun. They also wear army uniforms very well. If they’re wearing army uniforms and driving a truck that’s double points. I like men’s hands, when they’re well defined and the veins are obvious (this might be an EMT fetish). I like it when men run. I love the shape of the back of a man’s neck. I love men who wear work clothes and smell sweaty, I love a man’s sense of humour. I love that you can say inappropriate things to a man and he can tell very awkward jokes by return without anyone getting offended. I love that they go off on a waffle conversation and don’t really care whether you’re interested or not. I love that they are very easily offended when you try to criticize them about their fire lighting techniques. I love beards, or at least a mis-shaven chin. I love pictures of men with tiny babies, that small window of tenderness just hits me at the core.

but then…

WOMEN have beautiful hips! I have a friend who has beautiful enormous thighs, they make her walk in a fashion that is hugely sexy in my opinion even though she is constantly aware of her figure and is always dieting. I would love to tell her that I think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and that if she was ever thinking of having a threesome I would absolutely volunteer. I can’t describe her hips to you in real words. They just make me melt. I want to bite them. Women with intelligence are so entirely sexy for me too, I know a teacher who dresses in Victorian style clothing a lot, she’s in her late 50’s and has long flowing grey hair. She doesn’t have big hips, but her brain is abundant and she has the air of an alien who has great wisdom and is only just visiting this planet for the first time. I would not be very quick to turn her away from a naked brandy by the fireplace I tells you.

So.

This is just a quick explanation of my own tastes. And, like I say, once you divide one number into the other, you get a percentage.

lady erection

I am proud to be 18% lesbian.

I challenge you to be open with yourself and accept your percentage. What ratio do you end up with?

 

Jan 5

There’s Light at the end of the Tunnel

Posted on Tuesday, January 5, 2016 in Family, Philosophy, Rantings, Something to think about

No there fucking isn’t.

I would like (if you don’t mind) to have a rant about cheesy expressions.

There IS always a light at the end of the tunnel, and you might find it every now and then, but then a small and very strange force from the darkness behind you sometimes coaxes you back and tells you that things aren’t so bad in the darkness. This is probably because if you look carefully enough, there is a lot to be said for the darkness that comes in between the start, and the finish. In that darkness, you learn things, and that’s good. When you hit the light, it’s finished and that’s just boring. There are always new things to learn, so darkness should be embraced no matter how difficult it seems.

‘BE YOURSELF’

You can never entirely be yourself. At best, you’re 10% of yourself. Most of the rest is just bacteria. So, next time you’re in a meeting with 20 people, know that you’re actually in a room with 2000 trillion microbes, and only 3% of them are paying attention to what you’re saying. Most of them are smelling you and want to invade you.

‘BE TRUE TO YOURSELF’

I love this one. I don’t know anyone who knows what themself is. If everyone knew who themself was, then there would be no need for conflict of any sort, if you think about it, and conflict is necessary. Everyone should lie to themselves on a daily basis. This way, you either force yourself to stop feeling guilty about the nice things you do for yourself, or you coax your brain into making your body do something different. I would encourage an imaginary friend who can be true to yourself instead, that takes a lot of pressure off, and gives you someone to blame if you screw things up. Avoid mental institutions though.

‘THE GREATEST GIFT YOU CAN GIVE SOMEONE IS YOUR TIME’

This just makes me feel guilty. I can’t give my children most of my time because I can’t multiply myself by four. And that’s okay, because I’m still feeding them and clothing them and doing stupid dances in the kitchen to entertain them while the spaghetti is burning. Even with one child, time is precious. Even with no children. Sometimes you can give someone a whole lot of time when you think it’s right, but it really isn’t. Maybe you’re sick, or sad, or pre-occupied, and the best time you can spend right then is time mulling, or sleeping, or sipping tea. Time is relative. That four minutes you spend calling your friend out of the blue can feel like 500 years worth of friendship to them, because it was at the right time. Or not, if you’re interrupting their nap. It’s a bit of a gamble, and very complicated. Do you know what I mean?

‘KEEP FIGHTING’

Telling someone who is very very sick to ‘keep fighting’ is like telling the rain to stop falling. Either it does, or it doesn’t. Umbrellas are nice. And a quiet ear.

‘LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE’

Until the next morning when you remember what you were laughing about and then you feel like an absolute and utter complete gobshite. And then you remember that nobody else feels this way except you. And then you laugh at the memory, and the cycle completes, and you’re in a loop of embarrassment that only exists in your own head. But you still laugh when you remember it, usually in a queue for something. Again, avoid mental institutions.

‘AWARENESS DAY’

I declare this next week ‘bits of old scraps of paper awareness week’. Because I can. DON’T THROW YOUR OLD BITS OF PAPER AWAY! DOODLE ON THEM INSTEAD! SAVE THE PLANET! SAVE A TREE!!! etc.. etc.. (tomorrow shall be National BellybuttonFluff awareness day)

‘TODAY IS A BRAND NEW DAY!’

No it isn’t. It’s nothing new. It’s been happening for billions of years. The sun rises, the sun sets, days are a man-made invention so there’s really no such thing and it doesn’t really start at any set time. Maybe each 24 hours isn’t a day at all. Maybe we should embrace every 4 hours, every  5935 minutes instead of re-setting the clock at 6am arbitrarily because someone told us to. Happy New 36o,987,243,092 minutes everyone! Randomly celebrating time and existence for no reason should be compulsory, out of the blue when it’s least expected. Like a non-birthday, if you will. You don’t even have to say it out loud.

‘THE OLDER I GET, THE WISER I BECOME’

This is true, but it’s also false. Puppychild once told me (when she was 4 years old) that I’m bad and that’s not good, but I’ll never be good and that’s not bad.  I think that’s the best advice I’ve ever had from anyone, ever.

‘A FRIENDLY EAR’

Ears are just cartilage and flesh. They also are home to the smallest bone in your body, and are responsible for keeping your balance, even when you’re drunk. They’re amazing things, but they’re not friendly… they’re fairly impartial unless you stick a Q-tip in too far in which case they get fairly pissed off.

o0o

I know, I know. I seem to find the price of everything with this post, and the value of nothing, but I like being cynical. The most valuable things that motivate me are those expressions that excite the silly in me, the things that poke fun at life because that’s the only way to get through it all, I think.

Nov 18

Arachnophoboprophylactic

Posted on Wednesday, November 18, 2015 in Family, Humourarse, Philosophy, Strange and Unusual

I have a new theory that I have been testing out for 18 days now. It is a prophylactic spider:

spider

It is not a real spider.

But people sometimes think it is, and tend to stamp on it violently forgetting that this is not a country where large spiders tend to exist, hence its lack of legs. Poor inanimate thing.

Since Hallowe’en, I’ve noticed that laying large fake tarantulae around the place has led to a lack of spiders who would generally otherwise invite themselves into my home AND NOT PAY ANY RENT so I left them there presuming that spiders are innately carnivorous and would probably be terrified of large counterparts who might eat them. I’ve googled this theory intensely but have not come up with any answers other than anecdotal evidence so I am conducting this experiment alone, and will keep you updated.

There is one by the front door, one by the back door, one on our bedroom windowsill and one at the back of the house for extra measure. Since Hallowe’en I have not had one single spider enter my home. This is quite impressive considering the grand soft Irish weather we’ve been having lately. Not one single spider.

I’m not mucking about here, by the way. I’m very serious about this. I have regular dreams where cute little animals suddenly develop eight scuttly little legs…

squirrel

… and given that I’m the only coal-fetcher in our house I can assure you that monster spiders are lurking for I have seen them. They are there.

In the dark.

Waiting to come in to my nice warm house.

And this is why my fake spider sentinels will remain in place, ready to not pounce, ready to not eat them.

Nov 12

EARWORM

Posted on Thursday, November 12, 2015 in Philosophy, Rantings, Something to think about

One of my favourite parts of anxiety and an over-active mind is the earworm phenomenon.

For two weeks, I had to put up with ‘I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden’ by Lynn Anderson, a hit in 1970. I wasn’t even born then which makes it even more frustrating. I don’t know any of the words, apart from those two lines. Over and over and over and over.

‘Are you with me’ by Lost Frequencies is a great song, but one line haunts me over and over and over and over and over and over: ‘Listen to the Mariachi play at Midnight, are you with me?’

Then there’s that awful song, the Yellow Submarine by the Beatles. I can’t help but put weird lyrics in place of the original score. ‘We all live in a tub of margarine’… etc… it never becomes resolved.

~~~

I think that’s the whole point. I think our brains want to annoy us as much as possible because they’re frustrated at being underused. Or overused. Or overwhelmed. Our brains don’t really know what to do because civilization has overtaken our brain’s ability to evolve. That’s why we’re so anxious all the time, it doesn’t know where the grey area is with fight-or-flight is any more, that washing machine tendency to keep us as permanent insomniacs, I think it’s frustration because life has become too easy for us, handed to us on a plate which is good and bad… but I digress.

~~~

I love it when good earworms visit me. Like Pearl Jam: ‘Don’t call me daughter, not fit to, the picture kept will remind me.’ Those lyrics I held onto and made them drown out the rest of the washing machine noise in my mind. I love that song, so I will leave it for you at the end of this point if you like.

I think that when you get a really horrible earworm that won’t leave you alone, I think that all it wants to do is hear the last few bars of the song. It just wants to simplify things. Even if you make it up for your brain to be at peace, that seems to work sometimes. I remember doing this as a kid, with classical music. the ending never

seemed to

end.

because there was that little bit

more

because drums.

and maybe a little bit of sad violin

and then A GRAND FINALE!

followed by a Viola

and then a low note Cello.

to finish.

But you’re never sure when exactly when it’s appropriate to clap. That’s what my brain feels like.

 

 

Aug 17

Gnarly gardening

Posted on Monday, August 17, 2015 in Philosophy, Strange and Unusual

It planted itself by accident one day.

The seed just put itself there when I wasn’t looking

As they tend to do.

It sprouted and grew sideways and everyone told me it looked dead.

Compared to the other trees, its roots ran just as deep but the wind blew in the wrong direction that day maybe and so it is

My stunted tree.

I crouch by the roots some days in the shadows of branches that made their own success and I wonder if the underground tells stories that I can’t see.

Meanwhile

My smallest tree grows slowly.

Determined.

Sometimes I cry tears at its roots to see if that works and the sun shines between its leaves in mysterious ways to make me happy and sometimes my tears are not needed as nature takes its course without me and laughs at my effort

but that’s ok.

I know that some day this beautiful unusual tree will die like a weed deprived of sunlight, no chance for seed.

Like the most beautiful flowering thing above it, though it shines for a while it will wither and create mould eventually and create nurture for the soil beneath

and new seeds will fall

stronger and weaker as nature determines.

And that is the impossible truth.

Jun 19

Heathen

Posted on Friday, June 19, 2015 in Family, Philosophy

I’m not a non-believer. I’ve seen too many coincidences in my time to deny any sort of higher power. There’s something funky going on out there outside our existence which I’m sure of. Even if we don’t exist at all.

I’m supposed to be a Roman Catholic. So are my kids. I can’t resist a sly snigger any time anyone asks me what my faith is. I’m all over the place, but for my children’s sake I remain stoic and do what I’m s’posed to. I’ve no choice really, it’s all about school availability.

So. What I really like about Roman Catholic society is that their masses get people together as a community. There are a very few other entities out there that can do that. They’re damn good at holding funerals. Even if you didn’t know the poor chap that died, but maybe you used to queue behind him at the post office for your pension fund or what have you, you still nodded and doffed your cap, so that’s you at the funeral paying your respects and scoffing free sangwidges, telling nice stories to the deceased’s family because that’s really all they want to hear and that’s a nice thing, it’s what I’d want in the eventuality of having something awful happen to me or someone I loved with all my heart.

Here comes the Catholic Guilt… when Puppychild was making her Communion I made a concerted effort to bring her to Sunday Mass every week. She remained in the back pews making bored noises while I became hooked on the choir. It’s a good choir. It has four parts. I was a middly sort of singer but I’m damn good at picking up tones and reading music so they liked me.

Then Puppychild finished her Communion thing and I got lazy. She had no interest, no motivation, and I can’t say I blame her. All that chanting. Stand up. Sit down. Baskets of money and people looking at you strangely because you forgot to load up on change that morning or your jumper has dog hair on it. So, I lost motivation too and I feel SO GUILTY.

Morning. Yaawwwn.

Why do interesting things have to always take place in the morning? Especially a SUNDAY morning when you’ve been working hard all week and deserve a lie-in?

I don’t miss Mass. Well I do sort of. I miss the stories.

I miss the choir though most of all.

Can’t they have a lunchtime mass for layabouts and messers? We’re part of the congregation too, you know. We’d even bring coffee and hummous crackers and cactus plants. Probably a guitar too.

Numbers are dropping, they tell me. Not just Mass-goers, but priests and nuns too.

It’s Puppychild’s Confirmation next year, and it was supposed to be Laughingboy’s last May. I’m lumping them together, like a 2-for-1 offer. That’s how it feels. It’s more convenient for a family day out I suppose.

It’s depressing though, how MEH it all feels.

I wish there was more relaxation, more passion, more of a family feel to Sunday Mass. More of an open-ness to individual preferences instead of a fixed regime of closed doors and silent sadness. The Lord is with Thee every day, no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Or maybe He’s a She. Or maybe She’s an It. It might not exist at all.

My poor Grandmothers must be turning in their graves.

Aug 13

Sheela-Na-Gig

Posted on Wednesday, August 13, 2014 in Philosophy, Something to think about, Strange and Unusual, Taboo, Wicklow walks

I write this for the consideration of those both owning a vagina (even albeit vicariously) and for those that do not. For those that do, I’m sure you’re aware of the phantasm that has been created regarding such a beautifully crafted phenomenon. Most seem to crave it and hate it at the same time… a lot of the worst curse words you can think of revolve around these four simple flaps and the strange secrets they hold between.  Those of us that have a vagina sometimes wonder at it, but we rarely curse it. Its mysteries just never seem to end. For those of you that don’t possess a vagina (even somewhat vicariously) it’s ok, but don’t be afraid to go and find it. It will be worth your efforts, so long as you treat it nicely.

This brings us to Sheela.

Sheela Na Gig

Sheela Na Gig

Síle Na Gigh (pronounced ‘sheela na gee’… GEE you say? Those of you in the Irish inner city working classes might relate to that word. It’s not a coincidence.) Isn’t she beautifully Fugly?

Now at this point, I could bore you with conjecture as I have just crawled my way out of the Wikipedia pit having gained very little information, purely because nobody really seems to know who she is. I could tell you where you could find these figures, and how far she dates back, and I could give you a fully descriptive bunch of theories as to why she exists, but I’d much rather be so arrogant as to let you find these facts out for yourself and in the meantime, give you my own theory.

I put it to you, that in the days of old Irish ancientness, the people were no less insecure than we are now. By proportion, there was just as much judgement, and violence. There was just as much of a likelihood  that those people had just as sharp a sense of humour too.

For example… let’s have a look at the Newgrange kerbstone markings:

k1-graphic

Our present archaeologists are pulling their hair out trying to interpret the meanings of those beautiful squiggles.

I say: What is the likelihood that a stoner was commissioned to do this? Did he get busy doodling on a big rock absolutely off his face? I wonder if he realised that 4,000 years later he would be costing researchers a load of cash and time trying to figure out exactly what he was at? I’d say he’d be absolutely delighted, and is laughing his ass off in whatever turf-pile he’s turning into right now.

Same with Sheela, I think.

I mean, there she is, all bald and ugly with her bulbous eyes and weird titties exposing her vulva so gratuitously like she does. The most confusing thing is, if you want to find her, she’s most likely hanging around Churches. CHURCHES no less. Given our Catholic stoicism she’s somewhat of a contra-indication, is she not?

So. Is she really there to ward off evil spirits? Is she a blatant warning, or has she a deeper meaning? Perhaps it was just for the craic…

Here’s what I wonder. I wonder if she isn’t a warning at all, but instead of Buddhist intent. This works for both women and church. Stay with me for a moment…

02 Kilpeck

Sheela seems to be ‘all that glitters is not gold‘, carved into rock. Perhaps the fact that she is so vulgar, so uninviting… maybe that’s her thing. Maybe she’s trying to teach us something.

So, going back to those of you who do not have a vagina but would dearly love one, what is the wisest course of action on your part? Do you go for the most beautifully obvious specimen, that one that will drain you of energy and credit card capability and probably never put out that much in the end because she is too completely caught up with her own face-value, or do you choose that lady who is the supposed frog? Once smitten she has the potential to realise all of your wildest dreams because she sees the ugly that is in you too and loves it and is not concerned with material value. Maybe she is pretty, but not in the conventional sense. She might have crooked teeth, say, but she sure can play a mean game of darts.

Because Sheela of the Gee sits in Churches above their doors and in courtyards, maybe she was informing infidels of the same theory. Pagans would see her, and wander indoors maybe in the seduction that maybe what lay within has hidden interests, not just surface value. Scrolls and filigree are nice and all, but isn’t honesty more intriguing?

After all, she isn’t scary, she isn’t a threat. She’s smiley and beautiful in her way, with her saggy boobs and labia all over the place like that. She looks friendly, someone you could have over for a cup of tea, and maybe a few rounds of cards. She wouldn’t judge you, or show you catalogs of fancy clothes that might better suit your figure. She would drink out of dirty cups and suggest funny things to do.

She is the most beautiful woman of all, and it is in my honest opinion that we should all have at least one Sheela Na Gig in our lives. If you are not one already, you might look more deeply into her ethos, it’s not like she’s hiding it. If you are, fair play to you, and may God Bless all who sail in you.

 

Mar 20

Your mother was a hamster

Posted on Thursday, March 20, 2014 in Philosophy, Rantings

I don’t like to start arguments as a rule, not even on my worst days. The ‘live and let love’ concept seems to make the world go around in my opinion. But, sometimes it’s fun.

Rarely, very rarely, I find extremists (nazis perhaps, though I shudder to use the term) who are hellbent on making everyone else bend to their way of thinking and this is where I come in… with a sense of humour of course.

“Nothing will benefit human health and increase chances of survival for life on earth as much as the evolution to a vegetarian diet.” Albert Einstein

Did Einstein really say this? I’m dubious. It’s very easy to make a statement and accredit it to Einstein, because he’s dead. And infamous. So, I could say ‘The future of mankind’s success is based on masturbation’ and accredit it to Einstein and most suckers would believe me and be fap-happy ’till kingdom come, but it doesn’t make it true.

I had to stick my oar in.

“Agreed, but isn’t it due to the protein from meat that our ape ancestors consumed that led to the evolution of our larger brains?” I ventured. To which was replied: “I suppose our ape ancestors couldn’t comprehend that when they had a BBQ ..a vicious circle I do believe.” Score! A silly answer and sarcastic with it! I would be crazy not to confute.

dogue

My ancestors didn’t fight their way to the top of the food chain so that I could become a vegetarian.

“Would we have industrialised and eventually evolved internetz (for this conversation was on social media as opposed to my normal kitchen fights) if our ancestors hadn’t discovered the tools to hunt and cook animals? This carnivorous nature of ours must have something to do with our being at the top of the food chain. I’m playing devil’s advocate – I don’t eat meat much, when I do i’m aware of where it comes from. Not saying our kind shouldn’t eat vegetarian more often, but isn’t it thanks to meat that we are who we are?”

It was several hours until I got a response.

Are you bored yet?

“If you fed enough meat to a deer would it get smarter too ?” was the eventual answer. It was said in quotes, but I’m not sure who quoted it. This was a red flag for me.

I argued the shit out of it. I mentioned opposable thumbs. I wanted to see a deer use tools. I wanted to know why if this person was raised by vegetarians, her eyes weren’t on the side of her head instead of in front of it. AND, if they are indeed at the side of her head, why isn’t she in the media and does she have trouble finding sunglasses?

The argument continued… I won’t bore you with the details.

“Chimps would have opposable thumbs regardless of eating meat. Do u think they wouldnt be able to use sticks as tools if they didn’t eat meat? Is it because they eat meat that they have opposable thumbs ?? The point of the quote is that humans now would be better being vegetarian. For the envoirnment and for health reasons. I believe we would of still evolved if we didn’t eat meat. But as to what we would of evolved into.. Who knows.”

hip

Some conversation. The ironic thing is, I agree with this quote. I think fast food and processed meat is a disgrace. I think supermarkets should charge extortionate prices for meats that are cut up in abattoirs, and that local farmers should be the main suppliers, local economy should be the main profiter, not the global companies. My favourite foods are avocados, carrots, beetroot and mayonnaise made from free-range eggs. I also have a weakness for prawns, but that’s a whole other kettle of fish.

Yes. I know I should be arguing more serious things with more serious people but honestly I’m no politician and from an outsider’s point of view, I can see that serious arguing makes no difference because principles are very fickle things. All I want to do, is have some fun.

Please, for the love of Eris, somebody start a fight. All this normality is driving me crazy.

 

Feb 24

I hate to interrupt you but…

Posted on Monday, February 24, 2014 in Jobs, Philosophy, Something to think about, Strange and Unusual

… there has been an accident outside.

Imagine you are at a volunteer first aid meeting (if you’re into that sort of thing) where you are expected to sit and be relatively comfortable in your mindset, you are wearing your best jumper and jeans or maybe your pretty heels because you never know who may be looking at you and judging you. You might even be wearing a suit. You are expecting education on a formal basis.

It is a commonplace meeting and you may well want to be somewhere else but you are there because you are there, you are bored or needing an outlet, but you are a volunteer nonetheless.

Suddenly:

a person known to you, a contemporary if you will: runs in and announces that a horrible car crash has happened outside. You are dubious but somewhat alarmed.

I’d like that. I’d like to disturb people out of their zone of security and lead them out into a mayhem of contrived chaos. I’d like fake blood and ripped up pieces of paper to represent broken glass. I’d like to spill water on dry ground and let people wonder what this fluid is, and then flick a cigarette butt into it and cause an imagined explosion. I’d have a driver with a pretend brain haemorrhage who is the father of a child who has suffered minor injuries in the back of a crashed car (because he was wearing his seatbelt) who could give a full history of not just his father’s medical background, but that of his friend’s who is in the passenger seat and suffering an asthma attack brought on by stress.

Interesting, maybidge?

I and a fellow meeting volunteer have contrived sick plans in our sick minds because we want our stagnant meetings to have a bit of flavour, and to introduce an opportunity for otherwise bored people to go out and heal sick people on a whim. I and he would rather this be kept a secret, to which you are privy.

What say you? What sick and accidental contrived situation would you imagine if you could? Nobody is watching. Everyone that reads this blog is unjudgemental so please unleash your best! But shhhhhhhh. Don’t tell anyone.

Think your worst. Think reality. Give us a scenario to practice our healing because we NEED it. We need to practice, they need to get their suits and high heels dirty. I would like to orchestrate the play from Hell, because that is life, that is what should be expected from us.

REALITY. Choking babies. Exploding supermarkets. Your favourite neighbour’s heart attack.

Reality is harsh, but plays are fun, and practice makes perfect.

No musicals though. Lyrics shall not be accepted.

gunnd

Is it cruel that I make light of such a thing if we’re to be rescuers? Should a love of horror be disturbing?

I fear for the day I find a teddybear at the scene of a car crash where a child has been decapitated.

Help us to prepare. Life is cruel.

Curtain opens…

Jan 28

Getting the hands dirty

Posted on Tuesday, January 28, 2014 in Jobs, Philosophy

So I got called out to my first Cardiac Chest Pain a few nights back.

It was a friend of a friend of a friend, someone I’d facepainted for a few months back. I got a tip from a concerned relative, someone who knew what I was studying, knew that I might be of some help.

I drove to their house in a relaxed state of mind, found their house within a few minutes, knocked on the door and smiled and introduced myself as a student, a friend.

As it turned out, the Cardiac patient showed me the ‘real’ patient on the couch. His lover, the one he could not do without, was suffering from an acute throat infection and it was that which gave him stress, his concern, his pain.

I checked both their vitals, told them that there was nothing to worry about, they were both within normal vital ranges. I fetched water and offered to fetch coal, I sat on their rug and chatted with them and understood and listened and then I left.

It was in the leaving that the real pressure took place. Was I abandoning them? They had a doctor due to visit, but it was late, was I expected to hang around until the doctor arrived? I stressed that I was only ten minutes away, that I had an AED and equipment in the car, ready at a whim. They thanked me and asked what they owed me.

I laughed! ‘Nope! It’s what I do!’ I said. I think this confused them.

Then I left.

Did they think I was a doctor? Did I just lure them into a false sense of security? I called concerned relative afterwards and expressed my discomfort. They assured me that even the little that I did, did a lot to settle them. They have since been seen by a proper practitioner, they’re both a lot better now.

I like this role, the intermediate practitioner, the pre-hospital advisor albeit somewhat un-educated, sometimes it’s enough to calm and reassure. Maybe that’s what is all that’s needed, someone to listen.

I like this job already.