Just been to a young woman in her late 20's.

Deceased.

Leaves behind two children.

Happy Christmas.



I can't really say more than that as the police are involved.

A couple of minor things happened during my last set of nights that I found vaguely amusing.  It’s Christmas eve.  I’m working.  So this is as good as it gets.

Oh…and the next blogger who posts how they are having a holiday from both work and blogging gets my size twelves up their bum.  I’m still bleedin’ working!

——–

I was driving home from a particularly busy nightshift, when I saw that someone had written something in the dirt covering a van.  ‘hic magne’.  Is that Latin, I thought?  It only took me five minutes to realise that I had misread the writing.  It actually said ‘chick magnet’.

——–

Picture the scene, I’m in front of a *ahem*, ‘large’ man with breathing difficulties.  So I thrust my hand, and stethescope up the back of his workshirt to listen to his chest.

He has a (sweaty) back that is hairier than most dogs.  Lovely.

——–

I was sent to a ‘fall from height’, the patient had apparently fallen out of a second floor window.  So why was I climbing up four flights of stairs to reach him?  Because the patient’s actual injury was that he had been bouncing on the marital bed, and had hit his head on the ceiling.  The whole ‘fall from height’ bit was purely because the patient didn’t have the world’s best command of English.

Nice enough fellow mind, with a bit of a graze on the head that had been bleeding a bit.

——–

“Control”, I call down the radio, “My navigation has failed, I don’t know where this nightclub is supposed to be.  Any chance of help finding it?”.

“Sure”, comes the reply, “I think my colleague frequents that particular dive”. 

A pause…

“Yes, she knows where it is, you’re miles away”.

“Sorry Control”, I reply, “I haven’t been to a nightclub in years, and never one around here”.