the calgarian rhinemaiden

so at last the long week of work drew to a close. burberry finished her three weeks work in a week and slumped off exhausted leaving me with an enervated 3jays for the last night. it may have been that the dark magic of the swiss/burberry pairing was finished or it could've been the lucky legware of dr socks but whatever the last night was mercifully quiet. i would've liked to have create more audit material but my brain was cheese and i was left to ponder quite what we're going to do in winter seeing as the hospital is full now at our traditionally quiet time. also quite what the defense of the consultant who was 'looking after' our last successful resuscitation guy would have, given that he'd never seen the patient. one presumes there'll be an investigation but, as is usual with such things, he's too high up the nhs food chain for anything to happen. with surgeons it was ever thus.

anyhow the only answer, given work going on in the house, was heavy drinking. in my defense it wasn't just heavy drinking. there was reading, some harmonica practise, some guitar and even painting, yes painting, with rather lovely results. afterwards tho, with the arrival of geo, we committed to our intent of a long night of only drinking white russians.we start slowly but work our way into it, party time is happening across the street so we're unconcerned about the noise. The normally clean living T eschews the slow start and accelerates past us before startling geo with a declaration of 'i want all the drugs', explaining that drugs really are for old people and that she's just preparing herself. or somesuch. before she slides gracefully into unconsciousness. i suspect the morning will be messy for her. and it is.

me and geo stay up. for once we avoid any philosophical discussion and surprise, surprise there's no discord. we discover in the morning we've been watching coffee and cigarettes on youtube and i've told mmoneypenny, while describing her as a calgarian rhinemaiden. no memory of this survives. we finish the weekend with perfect sunday fodder - groundhog day - the irony of which doesn't escape us. i don't paint, or write, or even read that much, such is the hangover, but unlike T, i do get out of bed

but the painting, from which i'm having a brief pause, it's so lovely to get back to the painting. i'm trying out my new easel for the first time and finding it really quite comfy, as well as a nice change from working on the floor