Saturday, 5 December 2015

Three years on.

Believe it or not, three years ago on 4/12/12 I started my Blog.

I'd gone to St. Peter's Hospital with a broken ankle and was sent home for a week by a consultant who hadn't even spoken to me and couldn't read an X-Ray.

I'm reprinting the second post I made because I was misled by people working at the hospital who told me that the error had been made by a junior Doctor - so my solution was wrong at that time.

When I found out the truth and the cover up I changed my tune.

I like this start and it's been an amazing and unexpected adventure over the last three years.

Here it is;

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

How hard can it be?

Its a really cold day, there's sleet lying on the ground from last night and I don't want to go out on it - I'm worried about falling. I've got some aches and pains. Then I got out my old laser printer and found that its so out of date the cable is from before the days of USB connectors. So, I have to decide, do I go out in the cold to buy a new cable or buy a new printer. Money's short so its probably just a cable (I know, I know, it won't work and then I'll have to buy a new printer anyway)

What I'm really doing is putting off when I have to put into words why I need to make a change at St Peter's Hospital, Chertsey. I really will do it tomorrow - but it will be difficult and emotional and in my heart I know it's going to be my last fight, so I'm putting it off.

This blog is really nice right now - no one knows about it - like a party just before the guests arrive.

When I get a printer sorted the real work begins; leaflets to be printed and put out, posters, pickets. A struggle to fight. I've got to get enough people together to help me shame them into spending £800,000, how hard can that be?

A year ago I didn't think I'd still be around - this Robert Frost poem kept me going through the really dark days, and somehow it seems made for today;

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Still a few miles to go!

Neil Harris
(a don't stop till you drop production)

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