Quality Care On The NHS

The old legs are very stiff this morning. They feel like they've been put through a hard run, something silly like nine miles. I have problems kicking the dog's ball. I don’t know how I’ll get on my bike tomorrow or run at agility tonight. In addition last nights curry is doing lively things inside my stomach but I suppose that's to be expected.

The newspapers are criticising nurses because thousands of them have admitted to having affairs with their patients. Which is a bit harsh as most people meet their partners during the course of their work. This all follows comments by a Conservative peer who, during a stay in hospital, experienced nurses flirting with patients and overheard them boasting about their conquests and drinking binges. I imagine he's just pissed off because he wasn't the recipient of the attention. I can sympathise because no one flirted with me while I was in hospital.

He ought to keep his thoughts to himself because it's hard enough to get a hospital bed now and after this story people are going to be queuing overnight to get into A&E. Why would anyone want to go private when they can get that kind of care on the NHS.

I get home and cook something healthy for the kids because L is over in Derby, running again. Doggo and I head off to class, where the deep sand of the arena is not good therapy for my sore legs. The trainer sets a hard course tonight, which is what we need but it's also frustrating because some people are taking too long on it.

After class I collect L and we head home. It's our anniversary today but we're both too tired to commemorate it.