I am a poet dahling not a paramedic

 

I have not written a blog post in the month of April 2024 yet and it is the 22nd already. As I type this I do not know what I am going to write. It is 20.04 as I begin to write and that is nearly five minutes past eight in old money. Age shall not weary nor the years condemn. As you get older you become aware on the daily that you might not be around that much longer. You've given up most of the bad stuff but you have aches and twinges that make you think that you might have overdone it in certain bodily places years ago! Did I smoke too many fags? (cigarettes for Americans) Did I drink too much? Yes probably on both counts.

I wonder who isn't a hypochondriac really? With it being so difficult and deliberately off putting to see a GP there will be an invisible army of (mostly men) who will disappear off the face of the earth because they were too stubborn or scared to get that cough seen to or too embarassed to have the finger up the bum to check their prostate in case it arouses them.   

The poor old NHS! The horror stories we are hearing. I really don't want to trouble them. That's why I try and avoid doing dangerous things but accidents will happen and last Thursday I pulled myself away from twitter just long enough to attend a First Aid course.

Well I discovered a lot and it was fascinating but I would not feel confident in phoning 999 let alone administering First Aid to anybody but I have learnt the basics. If you are in my vicinity hopefully you will have the good sense and grace to faint or have a seizure as far away as possible from me.

I am a poet dahling not a paramedic!