An epiphany

As most of you know, I am a nurse. Much as it pains me to admit it I have been a nurse for a very long time. 24 years of my life have been spent in a variety of different uniforms in a variety of different postcodes looking after a variety of different patients. I don't think it's a vocation, at least it isn't for me. I sort of fell into it after answering an ad in the local newspaper. I'd already had a few crappy little office jobs when I thought I should really do something proper and perhaps shag a good looking doctor/meet some interesting people at the same time. I went along to the interview and a short time later found myself in a classroom with 30 other would be nurses. Excellent. A real job.

St Florence's Hospital for the Perpetually Bewildered was a local busy district hospital. It was home to Britain's second busiest casualty department. It had Britain's second longest hospital corridor. It remains to date the busiest hospital I have ever worked in and the most fun I have ever had during my nursing career.

I had absolutely no idea what I was letting myself in for on that first day. I wrote my resignation letter at least three times in three years. I cried. A lot. I drank cheap cider, got food parcels from my grandparents and an aunt, cried some more, laughed more than I ever thought possible and developed a love for Marmite. I worked like a dog for a pittance. I worked with some amazing people. I cared for some amazing people. I would say I studied hard but that would be a blatant lie, instead winging exam success with a slightly better than average brain and pure chance. Three years and three months later, I got my nurse registration, a silver buckle for my new blue belt and a job on my favourite ward.

Twenty one years later and I've hit a brick wall. I'm bored. I'm not doing what I want to do. I'm not getting job satisfaction and I haven't done so for at least ten years. Lately I've been thinking more and more about moving into the field of palliative care. I thought about it when I was a student nurse and was all set to do an allocation in the hospitals own palliative care centre when a change in hospital policy put paid to my plans. A fellow classmate had what might be deemed as a mental breakdown during her own allocation there leading her to attempt suicide after a fight with her mum and sister. She's fine. At least she was then. I haven't seen her for a while. Truth be told she was always a little bit mad by her own admission. Anyway, to cut a long story short - and believe me, it is a long story - it was decided that she'd gone off the rails due to the death of her grandfather 4 months before. The school of nursing instigated a policy preventing student nurses from going to the palliative care centre if they had experienced a bereavement within the previous 12 months. Sadly, my own wonderful grandfather had died the month before hers had and I was transferred to another unit.

I qualified, got a job on a ward I loved and didn't look back. Every now and then I wondered about what would have happened if things had panned out differently. I always enjoyed looking after terminally ill patients on the ward, which I know sounds strange to non nurses, but I always saw it as a privilege to do so.

Fast forward to today and I've been thinking a lot about a move to the field of palliative care. Last week I was channel surfing when I came across a programme about a hospice, a hospice which just happens to be opposite my hospital. Today I was at a meeting where the palliative care clinical nurse consulant talked about her work. For the next half an hour I could think of nothing else but the hospice and how I wanted to work there. It was as though someone was standing in front of me saying, "Run. Run now. You hate what you're doing and you'd be really good at this. You'll love it. Run."

So, I'm thinking of taking up running. Matters are slightly complicated by the fact that I have an interview on Friday for a part time job in the Hospital Next Door as project nurse for 13 weeks which I'd quite like to get. If I get that, I'll stay put for a while. But if I don't, I'm going to pull on my trainers and run.

Distance

I'm sorry to tell you that I'm feeling a little bit maudlin today. For some strange reason I want to call my grandmother tonight. I want to call and find out how long she had to wait for the bus to East Ham. I want to call and hear her tell me how terrible the television is. I want to call her and hear how much her feet hurt. I can't, of course. She died some years ago. I wanted to pick up the telephone and listen to her voice. It's come out of the blue and I don't know why. I just miss her tonight. I really do.

That's the thing about being apart from people. It causes you pain. It doesn't make it any easier when you've deliberately moved yourself away from people, regardless of what they might think. I'm planning a trip home this year and will be in sunny England - and possibly further afield - in June and July. I get to eat Marks and Spencers food, lard myself up with proper chips from the chippy, annoy friends and family by asking, "Who's that, then?" during soap operas and of course, see my dear old dad.

I was reduced to tears at work on Friday when one of the doctors asked me if I was going home this year. I said I was and that I was looking forward to seeing my dad.
"Do you know what it feels like for a father?" he asked. "Don't you know that when they're so far away it hurts? It really hurts. It gets you right here," and he pressed a hand against his chest.

I know. I do know. It hurts me too. Sometimes I sit here and I think about my dad sitting on his own on the other side of the world. I wonder if he ate properly today. I wonder if he spoke to anyone today. I wonder if he understands that it hurts me too. Not all the time, of course. But sometimes. Like today.

Still, I get to see him in about 16 weeks. I can pick up the telephone right now and hear his voice. I can't do that with my nan.

Ring someone you love today, if for no other reason than to hear their voice. You'll be glad you did.

Monday nights entertainment

See this? Good, isn't it?

I love Sydney. I think I was born to live in a hot country and this one fits the bill. Good climate? Check. English speaking? Check. Doctor Who shown on terrestial TV? Check. Okay, so it's 12,000 miles from the country of my birth and there are times when I wish I didn't live so far away but for the most part it's great.

The picture above is a further indication of why Sydney is a great place to live. The Sydney Festival hits town in January. There's something to see and do most nights of the week. Some of the events are even free, which is a bonus considering how little free cash most of us have at this time of year.

One of my favourite things to do, however, is visit the Open Air Cinema at Lady Macquarie's Chair. Tickets are like hens teeth. I've been unsuccessful two years in a row but this year I managed to score two tickets for last Monday's performance of In The Loop. I know, it's been out for ages in the UK but we've only just got it and I thought it was the funniest thing I've seen in ages.

I'm not going to talk about the film. I just wanted to tell you all that I had a fabulous time. Yes, the seats were a bit hard and I was sitting right up the back directly under the fig trees, thus increasing the risk of ending up with batshit on my head. I didn't care.

Just look at that view.

Remember me?

Hello, my name is SSS and I used to have a blog. I didn't have much of interest to say for a while, real life got in the way and I became morose and dull. I sought solace on the braindead pages of the Daily Mail, watched too many episodes of The West Wing, ate chocolate, drank tea. I procrastinated on a level never seen before.

Anyway, I thought I'd come back to my little blog. And here it is. Sad, neglected and a rather unattractive shade of blue. A bit like my old PE knickers, actually.

But enough of my knickers. I hope to have something witty, informative, hypertension inducing or hilarious for you soon. I just need to have one more cup of tea.........

Breakfast on the Bridge

I know, I know. It's been ages. But I'm here now.

Today is Sunday. Most normal people get up at a reasonable hour on Sunday. They open their eyes, smile at the sight of the alarm clock and promptly roll back over. They get up when they feel like it.

Today my alarm clock went off at 5am. I was out of the house at 05.28 and standing at the bus stop with a friend. It was time for http://www.breakfastonthebridge.com/ .

This was a first for Sydney and I'm sure it won't be the last. 6000 people got up at a ridiculous hour and carted picnics to Milsons Point train station. After queuing for a suprisingly short time in an unutterably long queue we rounded the corner and set foot on the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

You've all seen it on the telly. Some of you have driven across it, walked over it and maybe even climbed it. But I bet none of you have taken off your shoes, put down a picnic rug and laid on your back on it like I did today.

It's a big bridge. It carries eight lanes of road traffic. It has two train lines, a footpath and a cycle lane. Today the road section was closed and turf was laid over a large section to allow NSW residents to have breakfast in style. The most entertaining thing for me was the milking cows which were eating hay and seemed oblivious to their surroundings.

The picnic was short but sweet. We settled down and unpacked our picnic at approximately 7am. I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to get my picture taken by the masses of photographers but to no avail. About half way through volunteers handed out baseball caps in yellow and green. I haven't seen an arial shot yet but I'm sure it'll be amazing.

We were asked to start packing up at 08.20. It felt like long enough, to be honest. I came away with a heavier bag than I arrived with due to obtaining a free loaf of bread, a small pot of yoghurt and a free canvas bag.

Getting off the bridge was incredibly easy. We walked onto it from the north end and walked off it to the south. This suited the group very well as we'd all crossed the bridge (a big thing in Sydney, let me tell you) to get to the picnic so getting home was a breeze.

I was home by 09.30 and asleep on the settee by 10.00. I awoke at midday to pouring rain, thunder and lightning. Perfect timing.

Would I do it again? Absolutely. And if you're in town next year you should do it too.

Star Trek and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra

Life has been a bit ordinary lately. One of my best friends has moved to New Zealand, the workplace is full of adult women who have regressed to the age of 14, I broke a dish which belonged to my late grandmother and I'm another year older. So it was with much excitement that I headed to the Sydney Opera House for a performance by the Sydney Symphony Orchestra on Friday night.

I was trawling the internet on Thursday night when I remembered reading somewhere that the SSO were doing a performance of highlights from the Star Trek motion picture soundtracks. Google led me to the Opera House website where I discovered that the performance was the following evening. Surely it would be sold out? No. Just four tickets left. I hastily ordered myself a ticket - row A in the circle, almost smack bang in the middle. With booking fee the total cost was just over $106.00. I calculated it as just over 5 taxi rides home from work. Sold.

I was slightly apprehensive about going out on my own to such a fine venue on a Friday night, all Billy No Mates, until a friend pointed out that I would hardly be the only single attendee for a Star Trek event. Hrumph.

Anyway. I went. And it was Bloody Brilliant. Absolutely Bloody Brilliant.

The SSO were accompanied on stage by conductor Guy Noble. He kept us all entertained with his witty asides and by reading from his 'Captains Log'. I wasn't expecting him to be so communicative but I think he enjoyed the experience as much as the audience did.

A large screen was set up behind the orchestra and scenes from the various movies were shown with each piece of music.

The first half was non Trek stuff but still had a space theme. We started off with Sprach Zarathustra, the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey along with The Blue Danube from the same film. Next up was Holst's Mars from The Planets. I've always had a soft spot for Holst thanks to my old headmaster,Mr Windridge. He used to play classical music as we filed into assembly at primary school and make us think about what we were listening to. It was an awe inspiring experience listening to the same music over 30 years later on the other side of the planet. The main difference of course was the lack of record player and presence of a symphony orchestra.

Things really ramped up after the interval. Guy Noble reappeared in a classic Trek captains shirt, much to the delight of the audience. Clips from all eleven films appeared on the screen as the music filled the concert hall. There was a slight glitch when the wrong clip was shown for the wrong piece of music - just what it with the one with the whales anyway? - but it didn't detract from the sheer brilliance of the evening. The final piece came from the most recent Star Trek movie and the accompanying footage made me want to rush straight out and buy the DVD. I couldn't do that, of course. The shops were shut and it's not even out on DVD yet. But that's just detail.

I didn't fully appreciate the genius of Jerry Goldsmith until last night. Hearing the theme tune from the original movie - subsequently used as the theme for TNG - played by a full orchestra was a moment I will savour for a long time.

The seat next to me remained empty the entire night despite having been sold. Whoever had that ticket missed out on a truly magical night. As I walked out of the Opera House I looked up at the night sky and saw the full moon in all its glory. A perfect end to a wonderful night.

To my niece

My dear niece,

Tomorrow is your 21st birthday. You arrived three days before my own 21st birthday all those years ago. I'd selfishly wished for you to stay where you were for a few more days so that we could have been linked forever by our special day. I remember the day you were born, not quite as though it was yesterday but it certainly doesn't feel as though this many years have passed. Your mother had been in labour for over 24 hours before you finally arrived and the grapes I'd bought for her on the way to the hospital never made it to the delivery suite. You were small and quiet when I met you, so light I hardly felt I had anything in my arms. I cried when I held you because I loved you so completely. At the same time I missed my mother so much I thought my heart might explode with pain. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my entire life and to this day I have yet to experience that same feeling of pure joy.

You were the first baby in the family for many years. Everyone trooped up to the hospital to see you, hold you, marvel at your tiny fingers and toes. You were given your late grandmothers name for your middle name. Her father, your great grandfather, was quietly delighted. He died some six months after you were born and you were brought to the house after the funeral. I remember holding you and feeling sorry that you would never know him.

I left the country for the first time when you were two years old. I returned when you were three. You were still tiny, curly haired and serious looking. I fell in love with you all over again. I suppose if I'm honest you were a like a practice daughter for me, practice for a child it seems I'll never have. Family members commented on the resemblence and indeed photos of you at the age of three look similar to photos of me. Small, curly haired girls staring at the lens, a generation apart.

You were joined by a younger brother three years later and I would take you both out on day trips to all the usual places. You behaved on the Tube, did a small amount of pestering in shops and always seemed reluctant to go home.

I left again when you were almost ten. Your father drove me to the airport, I was surprised to see the whole family in the car. It was a difficult journey from Leytonstone to Heathrow. You were quiet in the car, I put it down to the fact that it was very early in the morning but when you cried at the airport I wanted to change my mind and stay with you. I didn't. I made the choice to change my life and move 12,000 miles away from all my friends and family.

Sometimes I regret that decision. Sometimes, but not often. Sometimes I wonder how things might have turned out if I'd taken that other job offer and stayed in sunny E11. But two years in Australia turned into a decade and in the time that I've been living here you and your brother have grown up and grown into people that I don't know. Is that my fault? I suppose so. You know I've tried to stay in touch, find out what you're doing, what you like, what you don't like, what you want to do with your life, what you had for dinner, what you bought at the shops last week. We made a few attempts but sadly we're left with what we have, which isn't a lot.

In the last couple of years our relationship has deteriorated to an all time low. I still don't understand why you felt the need to fall out with me over my changing my surname some two years before you were born. I explained that it was done to incorporate the surname of your late grandmother and your late great grandfather but you still interpreted it as being a slight on my father. Personally, I don't give a monkeys what you think about that subject. I'm still rankled at the way you addressed me thoughout the whole matter. I look back at the breathtakingly rude way you wrote to me - at me, it felt like - and the way that you rebuffed my attempts at acknowledging your feelings and extending the olive branch. Six months later and you deleted me as a Facebook friend. Whilst that seems such a small thing to some I saw it as a deliberate way of cutting me out of your life. I was saddened but not entirely surprised and had absolutely no desire to contact you to discuss it.

So, here we are. I'm just your fathers sister who lives in Australia. It's not the relationship I envisioned when you were put into my arms 21 years ago. We don't exchange emails or texts. I'm irrelevant to your life. That makes me sad but that's just the way things are. It's also made me examine the relationship I have with my own aunts and realise that I probably haven't been the niece they wanted either.

I wonder if you'll look back one day and wish things had been different. I wonder if you'll ever make an effort to get to know me for yourself instead of listening to various family members giving you their rather colourful opinions. I wonder if I'll still be there if you decide to do that.

Your birth remains one of the most amazing events of my life. I miss you. I wish you a long and happy life with many wonderful experiences.

Happy birthday, pet.