Slipping Away

I find it difficult to believe that 2 weeks ago I was at work, looking forward to my two weeks off. Don't ask me where the time has gone, because I sure as hell don't know.

My weeks' holiday was spent pretty much on my sofa catching up with a huge pile of reading. I finally got round to reading Virgin Suicides after much nagging from The Viking. Yes, it was very well written, and I did like the clever bits he did with the retrospective multiple narrator. Would I pick it up again in a hurry? No, not really. I did feel it was so incredibly sad.

I also spent most of my time nagging Boy. He starts his SATs next week. After much lecturing he sat down to revise. I was somewhat surprised that his teachers had not gone through revision or exam tactics with him. So I invested in some revision guides and went through the basics of revision. I am trying not to nag him about the revision. If he wants to be a vet, then he's going to have to work bloody hard. If he doesn't put in the work, then he'll have to think of something else. Me nagging him, isn't going to help. I keep telling myself that. Hasn't been working though. But I keep trying.

The Viking and his dad came visiting on their way back from Sweden last weekend. On Saturday morning we ambled into town and I became a bit concerned about Dad. He looked a touch confused and seemed to be struggling a bit. When we finally found a free table in a cafe, he admitted that he didn't feel up to the walk home. My alarm bells went off. This is a man who runs marathons, flies gliders and is building a conservatory from scratch. The Viking and Boy went home to get the car, I rang my surgery and got an automated message advising me to ring NHS Direct. I didn't particularly want to take him to A & E without a bloody good reason, but I did not want to wait for the Call Back from NHS Direct. Then I remembered, we've got a Walk-In Centre. I strongly advised that course of action to Viking and Dad and they agreed it would be a good idea for him to be checked out there. We didn't wait very long in the waiting room before Dad came back clutching a large brown envelope saying A & E.

I've not been to the A & E in the new hospital, so that was a bit of an experience. The staff were brilliant, got him into a cubicle and hooked up to the ECG pdq. And there we stayed. I didn't think to check my watch and see if we made the 4 hour deadline. But to cut a long and stressful story short, they wanted to keep him in for observation and to do more blood tests. So he went up to the ward and we went off to pack a bag for him and to get something to eat. That's when the fun and games started. When we got there, they'd moved him to another ward and it was on visitor lock-down, thanks to the Norovirus. We weren't supposed to visit him at all. Thankfully, the staff let us take him his bag and settle him in properly. He'd made friends with the other gentlemen on the ward, who of a similar age and when we left they were having a lively debate about the football results (Championship - will Hull go up and Premiership). The staff weren't sure that they discharge him on Sunday, the doctor's were considering doing more tests. Since I had to be in London during the week and The Viking had to be back at work, leaving Dad in a strange city by himself, we were hoping he'd be well enough to go home again.

This is a happy ending. Dad is back home oop North and according to the Viking is back to normal. It's funny, but at throughout it all I had the comforting presence of Mousie and Tom in the back of my mind. I knew that Dad would get the best of care. And he did.

My week in London was packed as I was trained to be Super Orange Woman. I now have had the basic product training so when I get back on counter no longer will I have to look to my Counter Manager to fill in the gaps. I'll have further training in the selling techniques to show me the best way to part women from their hard-earned cash. It hasn't really changed how I view the PCH, or their products. What was a bit shocking was the basic science behind the skin and how it ages - and the damage caused by the sun and sunbeds.

Of everything I've learnt this week, that has been had the greatest impact. I'm sure I've said that every now and then I've gone along and had a quick blast on a sunbed, to warm up and get a touch of colour in my skin. I'm by no means brown, it just keeps me from looking like a ghost or a vampire-wannabe. What I didn't realise is that the damage doesn't appear straight away, it takes about 20-30 years for it to work it's way up to the surface of the skin. It's scary. Really scary. I'm going invest in several bottles of self-tan - which in a way is just as scary as melanoma. I'm turning into Super Orange Woman!