Tag Archives: comic

Airport Security

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Airport security is a real chore.  Gone are the days when you could turn up at the last minute, throw your bag through the scanner and expect to rush through security to catch your flight just as it was boarding.   Now you have to give yourself plenty of time to allow for a full de-robing, body search and Spanish inquisition at the security gates.  Don’t get me wrong, the Government is keeping us safe, but I’m forever amazed that even after the enforced de-clothing and de-cluttering of one’s person,  I can STILL walk through the scanner and set the alarm off! I’m quite sure that no part of me that is metal, yet it happens to me every time…

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Conversation Stopper

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Autumn is here – my favourite time of year!  Scrunchy leaves. Clear, crisp skies. Seeing your breath. Warm coats and scarves. Squirrels manically burying seeds. Irresistibly shiny conkers that you just have to pocket. Log fires and a palette of golds, reds, browns and oranges that make you want to paint or write poetry!  This is not however, the topic of my cartoon.

Last week I was chatting to L about the day’s events on my walk home from work, when along the path bounced the most adorable puppy.  Anyone who knows me, will know that I’m a sucker for anything cute and fluffy.  I’ve been known to fight my way through a crowd to stroke some unsuspecting mutt, whilst L marches ahead with embarrassment muttering “She’s not with me. She’s not with me”.   Just the sight of a ball of fluff will more than likely cause me to let out an uncontrollable squeal of joy followed by a gush of unintelligible coos and babbles as I stroke and hug said creature to death.   I’ve even been known to shout ‘hello’ to cows and wave to cats…Yes, I would agree, these are not the actions of a sane person.

So, when I spied the puppy running down the path, without a moment’s thought or warning, I hung up mid-conversation. Just like that.  It wasn’t until after I’d had my fill of puppy cuddles that I realised what I’d done.    Understandably, L was a little bemused by the sudden disconnection – was the network down? did I drop my phone? had I been attacked by a mad axeman?  When I finally rang back to explain what had happened, she was not in the least bit surprised, for nothing can come between me and a puppy!

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Pain, Pills and Bad Nursing

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Nearly 5 weeks ago now, my other half did something to her back whilst getting ready for work.  For as long as I can remember, her back has always been a problem but nothing has been quite as severe as this incident.  I found one morning her stuck on all fours, sweating with the pain and on the verge of passing out.  Knowing her pain threshold is pretty high, I was more than a little alarmed and frantically dialled for the paramedics whilst she groaned ‘no doctors! no doctors!’ before wretching with another spasm.  Being a doctor herself, I know how stubborn she can be about receiving treatment so I duly ignored her pleas.

I was less than helpful in this challenging situation. The best I could do was dab her forehead and stuff pillows around her for support until the paramedic arrived, at which point I did what I do best, I made a cup of tea and started to clean and apologise profusely for the state of the house.

The paramedic left an hour later, then the doctor arrived with a look of concern on his face, prescribed a cocktail of drugs and signed her off for 4 weeks.    She has yet to go back to work and I have been chastised for my impatience because, quite frankly, it is hideously dull when your other half is unable to do anything more than crawl from sofa to bed, to bathroom and back to bed.  Having said all that, she is now on the mend and mobile enough to have short, easy walks. I no longer have to play full time nurse, taxi driver, chef, cleaner and waiter, and I shall never take our mobility for granted again!  Hats off to those people who are full time carers.  It’s hard work.

Pain Pills and bad nursing

Break Time

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In this life there are spooners and shakers. The spooners like the comfort of boundaries. When someone says “I’d like half a teaspoon of sugar with my coffee”, a spooner will diligently measure the requested amount of coffee and sugar, and you can be assured that your hot drink will be served at a reasonable strength and just sweet enough.

Shakers, on the other hand, live life on the edge. They have no need for utensils! Instead they prefer guesswork. You cannot be guaranteed consistency with a shaker. One day you might receive a potent, dark coffee that’s bitter and acrid until you hit the bottom where the unstirred heap of sugar (measured by eye) makes you gag and gives your pancreas something to think about. The next day, you may have a cup of slightly caffeinated, watery gnats wee and you chastise yourself for relinquishing control of your morning coffee.

I say this because in an office where people regularly offer to make you a drink, you have to choose wisely. Knowing who the spooners and the shakers are can be the difference between a good Monday morning and a bad one. However, there is one pitfall with some of the muckier spooners which could muddy the friendship between tea drinkers and coffee drinkers. It’s dirty habit which led to my cartoon of the week…

Break time

Office Kitchen Chit Chat

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Last week my good friend and colleague, V, left our little team of four to return to her homeland, Ireland.   In the year since I started, the four of us had become a well-oiled machine and despite having quite different personalities and interests, we gelled remarkably well.

V was perhaps my closest colleague and I enjoyed our daily routine of coffee making in the office kitchen where we would put the world to rights, discuss the weather, children, holidays, work and inevitably our weight.  She’d often bemoan the fact that she’d expanded out of control since having her daughter and I’d tell her how I used to play a variety of sports that meant I could see my feet without having to physically lift my belly upwards and inwards.  Ironically, and more often than not, these conversations took place as we both reached for a piece of cake from the endless supply of calorific goodies brought in by colleagues celebrating birthdays, holidays, house moves, the Grand Depart, football or just living.

There were two such conversations that still make me giggle when I think of them. The first involved an ill-fitting cream dress that V had shoehorned herself into.  She exclaimed that the multiple rolls of flab, accentuated by the tight dress made her look like a giant ‘witchetty grub’ – an image that fills me with mirth.   I hasten to add that V is not actually very large at all which makes the stories all the more entertaining.

I decided to draw the second conversation because it just sums up our chit chat.  I shall certainly miss V as I make coffee on my own and look longingly at the cakes.

V

Passport photo

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Passport Office strike or not, I need to get mine renewed before I head off to France in November.  One hopes that 4 months is sufficient time to complete this rather expensive and time consuming process.  First port of call is the dreaded passport photo – can someone please tell me why it is necessary to make your picture resemble a mug shot?  “The person in this passport was once the life and soul of the party but now they are just an empty shell, devoid of emotion or personality.  Let them into the country”!

And since when have they started dictating your hair style?!
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