I got a phone call the other day.

It was the cheery chirpy wee lass who is apparently my psychiatrist.

I like her. She’s honest and bright and of course she’s a great listener. This was bad news for her because I was in a bad mood, not having slept again the previous night. So I let rip. She heard all about my grievances and tribulations and basically how pissed off I was with the hospital system. It’s the old story – the surgeons, doctors and nurses could not be better, but the bureaucrats running the place just never seem to talk to each other. Why did I have an x-ray in Oncology when I had just had one in ENT? Little niggles like that.

Write it down, says she. Give the nurse in Oncology something she can’t ignore.

Last night I had another sleepless one. Bed at eleven. Read until half one. Got pissed off with reading [sorry, Tom Sharpe] so I got up and relaxed in my armchair.. Now what was I going to do for the next eight hours or so. I know! I’ll write about my little gripes.

So I did.

I put myself into a bad mood [deliberately] so I could lay on into the complaints. Reading it back it’s a wonder I’m still alive. Jayzus but I’m a fucking mess. I’m a train wreck.

I took myself out of bad mood again.

I’m fine now.