My diamond shoes chafe

It's quiet tonight in the Athenaeum Club. Everyone apart from me has gone to bed; it's one of those days. I've been tired all day, but I'm not tired now, just before midnight. Go figure.

So, not in the office today. The Walk-In Centre told me last week that I should go back this week to have my finger checked and today was the most convenient, so that's what I did. Except that when I got there, but after the statutory lengthy period of waiting around, the doctor who eventually saw me expressed surprise that they wanted me to come back. He confirmed that I have mallet finger and that I shall have to wear the splint for 6-8 weeks. He gave me a new, slightly bigger splint, one that does not leave my finger looking as though it was made by Lego and left in a swimming pool for a week and sent me on my way. Not, it has to be said, before referring me to the orthopaedic unit at Barnet General tomorrow between 8.30 and 9.30. They, apparently, are unlikely to tell me anything I don't already know, but as orthopaedic specialists, they like to keep abreast of these things. This means that I can look to missing a further half day from work. Normally, I'd be quite sanguine, nay pleased, to have time off, but it is our busiest time of the year and we have an immutable deadline to meet. In short, now is not a good time to be having time off work.

It's never quite occurred to me before why minor injuries are so bad. In health terms they are insignificant, but they are hugely inconvenient. I want my finger to heal, because well, DUH, but as a minor injury it ensures that I am unsurprisingly always at the end of the queue and this in turn ensures that something that we all know is going to take 5-10 minutes of a professional's time is going to take hours of mine and by extension, huge inconvenience to me and my colleagues. Then, if I don't go along and something needs to be done, I get to be further down the queue, losing more time in the long run and maybe risking the need for more invasive treatment.

I am an ungrateful sod.

My diamond shoes chafe

It's quiet tonight in the Athenaeum Club. Everyone apart from me has gone to bed; it's one of those days. I've been tired all day, but I'm not tired now, just before midnight. Go figure.

So, not in the office today. The Walk-In Centre told me last week that I should go back this week to have my finger checked and today was the most convenient, so that's what I did. Except that when I got there, but after the statutory lengthy period of waiting around, the doctor who eventually saw me expressed surprise that they wanted me to come back. He confirmed that I have mallet finger and that I shall have to wear the splint for 6-8 weeks. He gave me a new, slightly bigger splint, one that does not leave my finger looking as though it was made by Lego and left in a swimming pool for a week and sent me on my way. Not, it has to be said, before referring me to the orthopaedic unit at Barnet General tomorrow between 8.30 and 9.30. They, apparently, are unlikely to tell me anything I don't already know, but as orthopaedic specialists, they like to keep abreast of these things. This means that I can look to missing a further half day from work. Normally, I'd be quite sanguine, nay pleased, to have time off, but it is our busiest time of the year and we have an immutable deadline to meet. In short, now is not a good time to be having time off work.

It's never quite occurred to me before why minor injuries are so bad. In health terms they are insignificant, but they are hugely inconvenient. I want my finger to heal, because well, DUH, but as a minor injury it ensures that I am unsurprisingly always at the end of the queue and this in turn ensures that something that we all know is going to take 5-10 minutes of a professional's time is going to take hours of mine and by extension, huge inconvenience to me and my colleagues. Then, if I don't go along and something needs to be done, I get to be further down the queue, losing more time in the long run and maybe risking the need for more invasive treatment.

I am an ungrateful sod.

Like a blue-arsed fly

Egads, what a day.

This morning I was up at Barnet General Hospital (yes, the very one pax_draconis was extremely rude about in his professional capacity as someone who knows these things^TM). They were very rude about Finchley Memorial for not taking an X-Ray of my finger and did one for me. They then told me what I already knew (Finchley Memorial Hospital said they would), gave me my x-rays, told me to keep them safe and made me promise to go and say hello to them again on 12th January.

That was the morning gone.

Back home for lunch with My Girl^TM (originally I had intended to come straight from Barnet to work, but that was before I found that I would be carrying a very professional portfolio of my exceedingly glamorous finger bones. I may have them framed): a quick coffee and toasty cheese sarnies whilst watching Evil Timbo on Bargain Hunt on telly.

In the office by 2.15, to find total disarray because of out complete reversal of policy on Wednesday night. Surprisingly, we got a decision from You-Know-Who almost immediately and apart from severely jangled nervous systems in the Legal Department, where they have to convert algebra into Legal English, all seems to be well. I have spent the afternoon redrafting papers I thought finished. Now they are. At least until Monday when I will probably have to redraft them again.

The economists have been having fun with the Determination Model (don't ask) by feeding me revised data every few minutes. Despite the differences in grade (the Chief Economist is two grades higher than me), I have pointed out that I have an inventive imagination, a full stationery cupboard and the motivation to apply the contents of same to various bodily orifices. My knowledge of anatomy may not be up to medical professional standards, but I am willing to learn and will apply an unholy enthusiasm to the task. I do believe my arguments to be convincing; the constant updates have abruptly ceased and I have managed to complete today's drafting unhindered.

I intend to go home shortly; whether or not via the West End has yet to be determined.

Like a blue-arsed fly

Egads, what a day.

This morning I was up at Barnet General Hospital (yes, the very one pax_draconis was extremely rude about in his professional capacity as someone who knows these things^TM). They were very rude about Finchley Memorial for not taking an X-Ray of my finger and did one for me. They then told me what I already knew (Finchley Memorial Hospital said they would), gave me my x-rays, told me to keep them safe and made me promise to go and say hello to them again on 12th January.

That was the morning gone.

Back home for lunch with My Girl^TM (originally I had intended to come straight from Barnet to work, but that was before I found that I would be carrying a very professional portfolio of my exceedingly glamorous finger bones. I may have them framed): a quick coffee and toasty cheese sarnies whilst watching Evil Timbo on Bargain Hunt on telly.

In the office by 2.15, to find total disarray because of out complete reversal of policy on Wednesday night. Surprisingly, we got a decision from You-Know-Who almost immediately and apart from severely jangled nervous systems in the Legal Department, where they have to convert algebra into Legal English, all seems to be well. I have spent the afternoon redrafting papers I thought finished. Now they are. At least until Monday when I will probably have to redraft them again.

The economists have been having fun with the Determination Model (don't ask) by feeding me revised data every few minutes. Despite the differences in grade (the Chief Economist is two grades higher than me), I have pointed out that I have an inventive imagination, a full stationery cupboard and the motivation to apply the contents of same to various bodily orifices. My knowledge of anatomy may not be up to medical professional standards, but I am willing to learn and will apply an unholy enthusiasm to the task. I do believe my arguments to be convincing; the constant updates have abruptly ceased and I have managed to complete today's drafting unhindered.

I intend to go home shortly; whether or not via the West End has yet to be determined.