Warning: This post was published more than 13 years ago.
I keep old posts on the site because sometimes it's interesting to read old content. Not everything that is old is bad. Also, I think people might be interested to track how my views have changed over time: for example, how my strident teenage views have mellowed and matured!
But given the age of this post, please bear in mind:
- My views might have changed in the 13 years since I wrote this post.
- This post might use language in ways which I would now consider inappropriate or offensive.
- Factual information might be outdated.
- Links might be broken; embedded material might not appear properly.
Many thanks for your understanding.
My brother has inherited an organ. He has put it in the room directly below my bedroom. I cannot convey through the written medium how annoying it is to sit here while he plays an organ, loudly. And it’s incredibly disconcerting to wake in a morning to hear hymns played on an organ. You think you’re dead. But then, I don’t suppose you’d wake up at all.
I’m still not used to being home – it gives me a shock every morning to wake up and find myself at home rather than my uni room. It’s also a shock to get up and find an ample supply of cereal, milk and clean eating implements. It also seems to worry my family that I talk about cadavers whilst eating. It comes naturally now, because I’m so used to eating with other medical students, and that’s kind of the natural topic of conversation. But it’s apparently socially unacceptable to point out to someone eating a Frube (or whatever they’re called, those squishy things) that they are effectively performing the same action as you do when cleaning out a cadaver’s bowels – squeezing the stuff out. Can’t imagine why people don’t want that pointed out.
Family keep asking me about their medical problems. This causes a problem for me, because I don’t know the answers to most of their questions, and when I DO recall something that people can do to themselves without a prescription (erm, no, that isn’t a recognised therapy for anything I’ve come across thus far) the relative inevitably doesn’t believe my solution, greeting it with a worried “oh…” or similar. So what’s the point in asking in the first place?
It falls to me at this time of year, every year, to compile a quiz for New Year’s Eve with the extended family. This is another pointless activity, because most of the family don’t actually enjoy doing a quiz, but moan if there isn’t one to be done. I tried just using a Pub Quiz book the other year, but got moaned at because I didn’t write my own questions, so I suppose I’ll have to do it yet again.
My nephew was sick on me while I was trying to eat my tea today. So that cheered me up, as I’m sure you can imagine.
I’ve found a Christmas card I intended to send today. I can’t decide whether to just post it and pretend it got lost in the post, or come clean and give it to the person in question given that I’m at home . I’ve also got a selection box in front of me, and I can’t remember whether I like or hate Double Deckers . Decisions, decisions, decisions.
As we’re now slap bang in the middle of Christmas and New Year, let me wish you a very Merry Both-of-Them. And have a good 2004.
Originally posted on The LBSC