Because 12 hour shifts are indeed a prime example of Sartre...
Not much of an update today, long day at work, and we're a good man down this evening, which always makes things worse for the next day. No kick against those covering for him, but when you've got someone who knows the job inside out and does it every day, it's a hell of an act to follow for those who don't do it every day.
Mum's out, tired, but the op went well and all is looking hopeful.
The new shiny will henceforth be called Optimus (which is the name I'd reserved for my mid life crisis and I've decided I'm not likely to get a mid life crisis better than this, so it's used), and continues to delight me every time I step inside (although note to self, floor mats...)
Beyond that, all is reasonable, if not brilliant.
This is John Dodd in the Socialist Republic of South Yorkshire and Goodnight England, Wherever you are...
