In the evening light the walls of the priory
Cast shadows like old monk's faces engraved in their walls.
The evening swallows flit about like fireflies
Silently breaking the speed of sound.
Then, gradually, as the gauze sheet of dusk drapes over the land
They change subtlely into horse-shoe bats
Which are flashes of paint-brush, thin black lines,
Spat out and then as quickly erased
By the invisible artist.
Soon the moon will haul herself wearily
Up into that part of the sky
Where she can best see the pantomimes of the night,
And - carefully hanging one star from the piercing of her silver ear,
Gazes down in silent solitude whilst patiently awaiting her eternal fate.
Friday, 13 April 2012
Why do nurses work so hard?
I've been thinking about my nursing friends this morning since reading on facebook that one of them was just embarking on a 14 hour shift. I started wondering why do we do it?
Sometimes it's to earn more money because the pay is still not that good, sometimes it's because you feel guilty if you don't cover the ward - if you don't do the shift then someone else has to. Sometimes it's because your life outside work is crap. Sometimes it's because you love the work. I remember doing long shifts when I was very young and hadn't been nursing long. I did the long hours because I loved the work - just loved being at work - the adrenaline rush was like an addiction and you became completely engrossed in the lives of the patients, really believed you could make a difference to them. I often wonder if young nurses today still feel like that. It is so different nowadays.
When I went back to nursing on the wards a few years ago, after many years of working in the community, I expected to be able to spend time nursing people. In other words - to spend time with my patients, listening to their needs, and doing my best to help them through their traumas - proper hands-on nursing in other words. This was not what my experience turned out to be however. I spent most of my time in the office - writing up risk assessments, asking patients questions and ticking them off on a computer screen - organising the obs rota - working out which patients needed escorts to go out that day and which ones couldn't go out as we didn't have enough staff to escort them all. Sometimes this became very frustrating as the patients wanted to go out more often than we had staff available. We were encouraged to spend one-to-one time with patients - to work to their care plans - but often this was difficult to do and if you did spend quality time with the patient then there was all the recording to be done. This is now computerised. Now that in itself caused a lot of stress to staff who were not computer literate. If you couldn't access a computer then you couldn't write notes. Simple as that. Unless you wrote them out in longhand and asked one of the secretaries to enter it for you.
Eventually, I left and started working for an agency. I worked in the same setting as before - but as I was an agency nurse I was unable to use the computer system at all. This meant that everything I did at work had to be written out in long-hand and passed on to a secretary.
Sometimes I hanker after going back to working in the field but so wish that it was easier just to be a hands-on nurse again.
Sometimes it's to earn more money because the pay is still not that good, sometimes it's because you feel guilty if you don't cover the ward - if you don't do the shift then someone else has to. Sometimes it's because your life outside work is crap. Sometimes it's because you love the work. I remember doing long shifts when I was very young and hadn't been nursing long. I did the long hours because I loved the work - just loved being at work - the adrenaline rush was like an addiction and you became completely engrossed in the lives of the patients, really believed you could make a difference to them. I often wonder if young nurses today still feel like that. It is so different nowadays.
When I went back to nursing on the wards a few years ago, after many years of working in the community, I expected to be able to spend time nursing people. In other words - to spend time with my patients, listening to their needs, and doing my best to help them through their traumas - proper hands-on nursing in other words. This was not what my experience turned out to be however. I spent most of my time in the office - writing up risk assessments, asking patients questions and ticking them off on a computer screen - organising the obs rota - working out which patients needed escorts to go out that day and which ones couldn't go out as we didn't have enough staff to escort them all. Sometimes this became very frustrating as the patients wanted to go out more often than we had staff available. We were encouraged to spend one-to-one time with patients - to work to their care plans - but often this was difficult to do and if you did spend quality time with the patient then there was all the recording to be done. This is now computerised. Now that in itself caused a lot of stress to staff who were not computer literate. If you couldn't access a computer then you couldn't write notes. Simple as that. Unless you wrote them out in longhand and asked one of the secretaries to enter it for you.
Eventually, I left and started working for an agency. I worked in the same setting as before - but as I was an agency nurse I was unable to use the computer system at all. This meant that everything I did at work had to be written out in long-hand and passed on to a secretary.
Sometimes I hanker after going back to working in the field but so wish that it was easier just to be a hands-on nurse again.
Thursday, 12 April 2012
just a bit more of my new novel
Too lazy to write much today - well I have had a busy week - mostly helping step-son get his car sorted. More about that later but here's a little bit of my new novel to keep you going...
6 - Annette
It hurt. When I stood in the queue for a coffee in the same place I’d bought coffee for over twenty years. Some woman in front of me in the queue said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, ‘There are too many bloody foreigners in this country, that’s the trouble. They should go back to where they came from.’ She had no shame in what she said.
The man standing beside her laughed and spun around to see who was listening. ‘I always check to see who’s behind me before I say anything, just to see if there’s anyone foreign there who might be offended,’ he said, pausing as he caught my eye. He looked back at the woman. ‘But you’re a lady and you can get away with it,’ he laughed at the woman before taking his coffee and quickly moving away.
I wondered how he would know who was foreign and who was native to this country. I wondered why it hurt me. I don’t look foreign - I don’t feel foreign but my father was Polish and during my childhood he was a registered “alien” to the country until he eventually was accepted as a British Citizen. Dad came over here at the end of the war in 1945. He always worked hard, as a labourer on building sites and later trained as a psychiatric nurse. He never took the easy option in life and carried his war “wounds” with him, emotionally damaged to the end. I’m proud of my father and of my roots. All of my mother’s family lived in this town - she was born in a terraced cottage not far from this cafe. Do I not belong? My grandfather was Welsh but lived in this town since my mother’s childhood. If foreigners were excluded, where would I be now?
I used to think this was the best country in the world to live in but I keep meeting people like that man and woman in the queue and wonder if I’ve been wrong all along.
It all went wrong for me when I gave up the job working for Tip Top Carers. I know now I should have stuck it out although seriously they were taking the mickey. How did they expect us to give decent care to the poor old dears when we had to cram so many into one day. It wasn’t possible to get round them all unless some were short-changed with our time. It came to a head the day I spent an extra ten minutes with Elsie. Only ten minutes of my time to listen to her - hold her hand while she told me about her husband who’d died the year before. Then Mrs. Everson was on the floor when I got to her - she’d tried to get out of bed on her own. I couldn’t get her up by myself and had to call for an ambulance. By the time they came I was two hours behind. I’d phoned the office to let them know but that wasn’t good enough apparantly. No one else to do my cases - so I had to work extra fast to catch up with myself.
By the time I got home that night it was nearly midnight. I broke down and sobbed at the thought of all those poor old dears just waiting for me to come round. I’d poured myself a large glass of red wine and sat up in bed thinking about it all. Something snapped inside my head that night.
I never went back.
Now I try not to think about the people I’ve left behind. Someone else will be dashing about trying to look after them now - Tip Top Carers - Huh!
But of course, I couldn’t stay at home and do nothing. I need the money as well as anything else. I looked around for another job. Apart from the same thing in different agencies there wasn’t anything else - so I got this voluntary shop assistant job at Wendy’s Wishes. I love it. Wish it was a paid job though - I don’t know how long I can go on with just Jobseekers.
Sunday, 8 April 2012
Musical weekend and bell tents
Some weekends we just have a glut of music around us. This weekend was definitely one of them...
Friday night saw Angie Haynes Blues Band playing in The Golden Lion in Southwick. This was the first time the band had been out for some time and it was a pleasure to hear their music again. The pub was filled to the brim with people who appreciate a good night out and a bit of bluesy type music. A local band who have been around for quite a while - it was good to see them out. Favourite numbers for me are Kansas City, A shot of Rhythm and Blues, Train Time. There are others but my memory is a bit lax these days.
Last night we ventured further than across the street - out of the village to Wickham just four miles down the road. Still a village, but much larger than Southwick, Wickham used to boast of having three pubs. Unfortunately one closed down and is now a block of flats, another is now a restaurant, which leaves just The Kings Head which is where The White Knuckle Blues Band were playing. When we arrived at about 8.45 the pub was already pretty packed, the band were setting up - doing sound checks and greeting their old friends who'd turned up to watch. We managed to find a corner near a window which meant I could lean against the windowsill and still have a good view of the band. We were even lucky enough to get a couple of seats after a while. Now this band were pretty amazing - I particularly enjoyed hearing the saxophonist who apparently used to play with Culture Club some years ago. Yes, a great night.
We decided to leave the pub before the second set began so that we could get back to Southwick and spent the rest of the evening in our friends' Bell Tent. Now here's a story - Our friends went across to Holland to purchase the said tent some weeks ago. Bell tents have to be initially erected, then doused with water and dried out before they are ready to use (so they tell us). Our friends don't have a garden as such - just a small yard - so they erected it in the garden of another of our neighbours (also good friends) and decided to have a "tent warming" party in it last night. It was freezing last night so I put on a few layers together with my furry boots, took up a bottle of red wine and a couple of beers and off we went.
The heat hit me as soon as we unzipped the doorway. They had a small electric blow heater inside on the go all the time. The floor was covered in rugs and cushions, a few low tables scattered about and music coming from a device on the other side of the tent. Our friends welcomed us warmly and asked us to sit down. I was offered two fat cushions to recline on but first of all I had to peel off some of the layers I was wearing and I eventually - albeit reluctantly - managed to get down onto the cushions. Now my reticence here was based purely on my ability to get down to the floor and up again with any kind of dignity. But I managed to do so and soon we were relaxed, myself drinking red wine and the husband supping beer.
It was a great evening all in all in lovely company but quite ironical that the average age of us all was probably 50. I wondered what it is about us people that spend all their young lives trying to improve their lifestyle - graduating from a small tent you have to crawl in and out of, with just a sleeping bag and roll mat to lie on - going on up to high-tech tents with all the mod cons in that you can stand up, cook, sit around in comfortable(ish) chairs, maybe then onto camper vans with toilets and showers, then in middle age hanker after a tent with only cushions to sit on. Of course, our friends intend to have all mod cons in their Bell Tent. Once they are ready to take it out camping - they even have a double bed and a 'wet room' with shower and toilet in a separate tent I think.
You can see the Bell Tent from our bedroom window. We sat in bed this morning with our cups of tea, gazing out at it and wondering how long before everyone in Southwick has a Bell Tent in their garden - or is it just a fad?
Friday night saw Angie Haynes Blues Band playing in The Golden Lion in Southwick. This was the first time the band had been out for some time and it was a pleasure to hear their music again. The pub was filled to the brim with people who appreciate a good night out and a bit of bluesy type music. A local band who have been around for quite a while - it was good to see them out. Favourite numbers for me are Kansas City, A shot of Rhythm and Blues, Train Time. There are others but my memory is a bit lax these days.
Last night we ventured further than across the street - out of the village to Wickham just four miles down the road. Still a village, but much larger than Southwick, Wickham used to boast of having three pubs. Unfortunately one closed down and is now a block of flats, another is now a restaurant, which leaves just The Kings Head which is where The White Knuckle Blues Band were playing. When we arrived at about 8.45 the pub was already pretty packed, the band were setting up - doing sound checks and greeting their old friends who'd turned up to watch. We managed to find a corner near a window which meant I could lean against the windowsill and still have a good view of the band. We were even lucky enough to get a couple of seats after a while. Now this band were pretty amazing - I particularly enjoyed hearing the saxophonist who apparently used to play with Culture Club some years ago. Yes, a great night.
We decided to leave the pub before the second set began so that we could get back to Southwick and spent the rest of the evening in our friends' Bell Tent. Now here's a story - Our friends went across to Holland to purchase the said tent some weeks ago. Bell tents have to be initially erected, then doused with water and dried out before they are ready to use (so they tell us). Our friends don't have a garden as such - just a small yard - so they erected it in the garden of another of our neighbours (also good friends) and decided to have a "tent warming" party in it last night. It was freezing last night so I put on a few layers together with my furry boots, took up a bottle of red wine and a couple of beers and off we went.
The heat hit me as soon as we unzipped the doorway. They had a small electric blow heater inside on the go all the time. The floor was covered in rugs and cushions, a few low tables scattered about and music coming from a device on the other side of the tent. Our friends welcomed us warmly and asked us to sit down. I was offered two fat cushions to recline on but first of all I had to peel off some of the layers I was wearing and I eventually - albeit reluctantly - managed to get down onto the cushions. Now my reticence here was based purely on my ability to get down to the floor and up again with any kind of dignity. But I managed to do so and soon we were relaxed, myself drinking red wine and the husband supping beer.
It was a great evening all in all in lovely company but quite ironical that the average age of us all was probably 50. I wondered what it is about us people that spend all their young lives trying to improve their lifestyle - graduating from a small tent you have to crawl in and out of, with just a sleeping bag and roll mat to lie on - going on up to high-tech tents with all the mod cons in that you can stand up, cook, sit around in comfortable(ish) chairs, maybe then onto camper vans with toilets and showers, then in middle age hanker after a tent with only cushions to sit on. Of course, our friends intend to have all mod cons in their Bell Tent. Once they are ready to take it out camping - they even have a double bed and a 'wet room' with shower and toilet in a separate tent I think.
You can see the Bell Tent from our bedroom window. We sat in bed this morning with our cups of tea, gazing out at it and wondering how long before everyone in Southwick has a Bell Tent in their garden - or is it just a fad?
Day in Romsey with my old Mum
Every day this week I have been expecting the weather to take a terrible turn for the worst and every day I've been pleasantly surprised that it's never been as bad as we expected. I know there have been snow blizzards in the Midlands with road closures and all that, but here the worst we've had is a faint drizzle.
Thursday was the day I took my old Mum out to Romsey. An old-fashioned market town - it's a pleasure to shop in Romsey if you like charity shops. There are at least seven in the small town centre and we went in each and every one of them! Shopping in charity shops can be a great pleasure especially when they stock designer recycled clothes at a reasonable price. I usually buy at least a couple of items - sometimes for myself and sometimes for the costume store at the theatre. This time it was mainly books. I scour the shelves for any Anita Shreve or Douglas Kennedy - my latest passions - or any new-to-me authors if the covers look interesting. This time I've picked up two books by Nicholas Evans (author of The Horse Whisperer) - The Divide and The Brave. I haven't a clue what they're about or like but am looking forward to reading them. There's nothing like a novel to keep life interesting.
King John's house in Romsey is a place not to be missed if you're ever in that part of the country. It was originally a hunting lodge for King John (the bad one I think) back in medieval times. Now it's a small museum with a cafe and beautiful herb garden. As the weather was slightly colder than expected no one wanted to eat in the garden. The small cafe room only holds about seven tables together with the counter and cake display. Two women were dashing about serving coffee and tea as well as taking orders for lunch. The tables are all laden with an assortment of fine china cups and saucers - none of them matching - and the tea is served in china tea-pots. The menu is limited to jacket potatoes, omelettes, sandwiches and items such as beans on toast, sardines on toast or cheese on toast. They also serve soup of the day with a huge hunk of granary bread and lashings of butter as well as a range of proper puddings - apple crumble, syrup sponge, bread and butter pudding, all served with custard of course. I ordered an omelette and noticed a short while later that there was a commotion in the kitchen as they were about to run out of eggs. 'Oh dear, we've had a rush on omelettes today,' I heard one of the women say. 'What about Mr. Jones?' the other one asked. 'Oh don't worry, we've made sure to save enough for him,' was the reply. I'm sure Mr. Jones would have been very relieved had he known. I was lucky enough just to scrape into the omelette party before they ran out!
We didn't visit the museum this time although have done in the past. It's well worth the visit - my favourite part is the reconstructed shop at the front of the building where you can rummage through the drawers full of stock. You could be in the early twentieth century. Also check out the part of the museum dedicated to Florence Nightingale. She lived nearby and one of the items is an early recording of Florence Nightingale's voice. Mum and I had a spooky moment there on one of our visits. Mum said it was because we were both nurses and Florence was trying to connect with us!
Now it's been a busy couple of days since then - more of the weekend later I think...
Thursday was the day I took my old Mum out to Romsey. An old-fashioned market town - it's a pleasure to shop in Romsey if you like charity shops. There are at least seven in the small town centre and we went in each and every one of them! Shopping in charity shops can be a great pleasure especially when they stock designer recycled clothes at a reasonable price. I usually buy at least a couple of items - sometimes for myself and sometimes for the costume store at the theatre. This time it was mainly books. I scour the shelves for any Anita Shreve or Douglas Kennedy - my latest passions - or any new-to-me authors if the covers look interesting. This time I've picked up two books by Nicholas Evans (author of The Horse Whisperer) - The Divide and The Brave. I haven't a clue what they're about or like but am looking forward to reading them. There's nothing like a novel to keep life interesting.
King John's house in Romsey is a place not to be missed if you're ever in that part of the country. It was originally a hunting lodge for King John (the bad one I think) back in medieval times. Now it's a small museum with a cafe and beautiful herb garden. As the weather was slightly colder than expected no one wanted to eat in the garden. The small cafe room only holds about seven tables together with the counter and cake display. Two women were dashing about serving coffee and tea as well as taking orders for lunch. The tables are all laden with an assortment of fine china cups and saucers - none of them matching - and the tea is served in china tea-pots. The menu is limited to jacket potatoes, omelettes, sandwiches and items such as beans on toast, sardines on toast or cheese on toast. They also serve soup of the day with a huge hunk of granary bread and lashings of butter as well as a range of proper puddings - apple crumble, syrup sponge, bread and butter pudding, all served with custard of course. I ordered an omelette and noticed a short while later that there was a commotion in the kitchen as they were about to run out of eggs. 'Oh dear, we've had a rush on omelettes today,' I heard one of the women say. 'What about Mr. Jones?' the other one asked. 'Oh don't worry, we've made sure to save enough for him,' was the reply. I'm sure Mr. Jones would have been very relieved had he known. I was lucky enough just to scrape into the omelette party before they ran out!
We didn't visit the museum this time although have done in the past. It's well worth the visit - my favourite part is the reconstructed shop at the front of the building where you can rummage through the drawers full of stock. You could be in the early twentieth century. Also check out the part of the museum dedicated to Florence Nightingale. She lived nearby and one of the items is an early recording of Florence Nightingale's voice. Mum and I had a spooky moment there on one of our visits. Mum said it was because we were both nurses and Florence was trying to connect with us!
Now it's been a busy couple of days since then - more of the weekend later I think...
Friday, 6 April 2012
This morning we made our way to Titchfield to take a few bits of costume over ready for the forthcoming production of Can't Pay Won't Pay. On the way home we passed through the village of Wickham. I noticed how busy it was and was tempted to stop off at the Co-op to get the papers and maybe buy some bread and hot-cross-buns, seeing as it was Good Friday. The teashop on the corner was packed with many people sitting outside in the Spring sunshine, devouring cakes and drinking coffee. Being a good Southwickian I decided to wait until we got back home and shop in our own little village store instead. I even suggested to the lovely husband that we could have our coffee in the village tea rooms at the same time.
Imagine my disappointment when I walked to the shop - only a few doors away from our own - at about 11.15, to find that the shop and tea-room had closed at 10.00am. I was completely gob-smacked to tell the truth as it was a lovely morning and the perfect opportunity for the new tea rooms to make a killing with all the people about in the Easter sun. I jumped in my car and drove over the hill to Portchester, did a quick shop in the Co-op there, picked up a lot more than I'd gone in for and spent £36.00. On the journey back I couldn't help thinking about the many people who may have dropped into the shop in Southwick that day potentially spending similar amounts. Most of what I'd bought I could have got in the shop in the village: Orange squash, ginger beer, crusty bread, a sliced loaf, tinned fruit, popadoms, potatoes, salad, tomatoes, trifles, cream eggs, olives, clementines, the local paper and a daily paper, jaffa cakes, pasta sauce, curry sauce, pizzas. I know however, that the many times that I've been in the shop to get odds and ends that I'd run out of, have been disappointing and the last time I asked them to get more of a range of soft drinks in and perhaps to reinstate the ice-cream fridge, I was greeted with less than helpful remarks.
I know I'm not alone in wanting the village shop to stock a bigger range of items, and to be open at reasonable times, especially now that the tea rooms are open. I just don't see how it can work if you have a tea room which is not open during the times when people want to have a cup of tea. We of Southwick really want this to work - the shop more than the tea rooms, although that should be the icing on the cake and a good way to attract people into the shop. It's important for the community to have a store that is open and has a reasonable range of items in stock.
Imagine my disappointment when I walked to the shop - only a few doors away from our own - at about 11.15, to find that the shop and tea-room had closed at 10.00am. I was completely gob-smacked to tell the truth as it was a lovely morning and the perfect opportunity for the new tea rooms to make a killing with all the people about in the Easter sun. I jumped in my car and drove over the hill to Portchester, did a quick shop in the Co-op there, picked up a lot more than I'd gone in for and spent £36.00. On the journey back I couldn't help thinking about the many people who may have dropped into the shop in Southwick that day potentially spending similar amounts. Most of what I'd bought I could have got in the shop in the village: Orange squash, ginger beer, crusty bread, a sliced loaf, tinned fruit, popadoms, potatoes, salad, tomatoes, trifles, cream eggs, olives, clementines, the local paper and a daily paper, jaffa cakes, pasta sauce, curry sauce, pizzas. I know however, that the many times that I've been in the shop to get odds and ends that I'd run out of, have been disappointing and the last time I asked them to get more of a range of soft drinks in and perhaps to reinstate the ice-cream fridge, I was greeted with less than helpful remarks.
I know I'm not alone in wanting the village shop to stock a bigger range of items, and to be open at reasonable times, especially now that the tea rooms are open. I just don't see how it can work if you have a tea room which is not open during the times when people want to have a cup of tea. We of Southwick really want this to work - the shop more than the tea rooms, although that should be the icing on the cake and a good way to attract people into the shop. It's important for the community to have a store that is open and has a reasonable range of items in stock.
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
Life in Southwick is marvellous!
Yesterday I had new bathroom taps fitted to the washbasin. As the house belongs to the Estate, we didn't have to foot the bill - but no doubt at the next rent review it'll be brought up - as if anything would ever make a difference to the rent going up - it always does, every two years. We're still waiting for the fence to be fixed after it nearly blew away in the last storm back in February. I'm told that the wood has now been ordered but not date for them to fix it yet. Life in a small village eh? Still, I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.
I've been pretty lazy this week regarding the new novel - so today I will definitely get back onto it - in the meantime - here's another snippet. I hope you enjoy reading this.
Yesterday I had new bathroom taps fitted to the washbasin. As the house belongs to the Estate, we didn't have to foot the bill - but no doubt at the next rent review it'll be brought up - as if anything would ever make a difference to the rent going up - it always does, every two years. We're still waiting for the fence to be fixed after it nearly blew away in the last storm back in February. I'm told that the wood has now been ordered but not date for them to fix it yet. Life in a small village eh? Still, I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.
I've been pretty lazy this week regarding the new novel - so today I will definitely get back onto it - in the meantime - here's another snippet. I hope you enjoy reading this.
Gem
Let me tell you about Julie. She works here every afternoon - except Tuesdays. She won’t do mornings as she says she’s too busy doing her housework but I think it’s really because she can’t get up in the mornings. She always looks like she’s half asleep. And keeps popping out to the car park at random moments. Says she’s going out for a smoke but then she comes in stinking of something else - brandy I think.
I work with Julie on wednesday afternoons and it’s always the same. I’ve seen it all before down at the treatment centre - those ones who drink too much - they look down their noses at us druggies but they’re no better really - ruin just as many lives - probably more seeing as the booze makes you violent whereas heroin, well, it just eats away at yourself and if you’re on Methadone you can still get on with your life even though you’re still addicted. Wouldn’t want to be her.
Kevin really gets on my nerves. If he says one more time “Good morning madam - can I interest you in our latest raffle?” I’ll scream - or lump him with that bloody china rabbit! Still, he’s not so bad really - can make a decent cup of tea anyway and he works hard. I can take it easy when I’m on with him as everything gets done without any effort - from me that is. Actually, I wish he’d chill out a bit. It gets boring in here if there’s nothing to do.
Catherine’s alright but she’s a bit bossy although I gues she’s meant to be like that if she has to run the place. The first day here was a nightmare with Catherine. She started on me straight away.
‘This rail needs sorting out. Someone’s put the wrong hangers out.’ She’d grabbed a dress off the rail and waved it in front of me as she spoke. ‘Dresses should go on the black hangers.’
I found myself apologising when I knew it wasn’t me who put it out. I glanced at the price ticket and noticed the number on it. ‘It was done last week - look at the code - week seventeen. It’s eighteen this week.’
Catherine snatched back the garment. ‘It can’t have been - I’d have noticed. Anyway - whoever did it probably got the code wrong as well.’
‘Whatever.’ I went to the back room and found a new hanger - black of course. ‘There you go.’ Catherine had glared at me at the time but soon seemed to forget the incident. I just spent the rest of the day wondering what I was doing in the place. It’s not nice being the new one anywhere is it? It sticks in the throat a bit knowing that I’m not even getting paid for this. The only thing keeping me going is the thought of getting that judge off my back.
If you enjoy my writings - don't forget you can purchase my first novel Caught in the Web on Kindle through Amazon.
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