I had to work last Saturday morning – well, ‘had to’ is a bit strong, I am down to work one Saturday in 7 or something but I could have opted out if I’d wished to. Since the government decided that doctors should be available more often we now have a surgery on Saturday mornings. Only for pre-booked appointments though, we don’t have people just wandering in off the street. And because we have extra surgery hours we have to have extra staff hours to cover it so we were encouraged to volunteer, even those of us who don’t actually have any truck with reception work as a rule. I think my name was put in without my really agreeing one way or another but since it gives me a chance to work at grass roots level again I don’t have any objection. Officers mucking in with the foot soldiers don’t ya know, what what..

Anyway my Saturday came around. Wild and wet and windy it was on Saturday and the last thing I wanted to do was get out of bed so I guess I probably wasn’t at my peak. The first thing I did at work was to shut myself in the porch, on the wrong side of the door entry system and the keys on the other side of the door. ‘Oh bother’ I said to myself, or words to that effect. I felt very silly obviously, standing in a small porch with a locked door either side of me, glass doors and windows onto the street so any passer-by would be able to see me stuck in my waterless goldfish bowl. Mortification, and all that. I didn’t expect to be in there long as I expected my colleague to arrive any moment, and I would have to explain, red-faced what I had done. If only. It would of course happen the week that she forgot she was working a Saturday and therefore didn’t arrive to aid me. I was in there for half an hour and, oh the ignominy of it all, it wasn’t her that let me out it was the combined efforts of the first patient and the duty doctor. I won’t live this one down for a while.

Lesson learned. Always carry a bag I can put over my head!

It all happened on the same day hubby got his news about his Deacon training. He has been approved and can go forward. Life throws these strange curves at you now and then. Only think what this means for my two babes - which has the greater street-cred annihilation factor, a morris-dancing mother or a dog-collared father?