Rug rogues or thick tourists?

Nueva entrada - I'm doing this in Spain. Jerez to be precise, or Sherrish as I like to call it (and as it was known to the Brits a couple of centuries ago). This is the last day of our holiday which has also taken in Seville, Vejer de la Frontera, Tarifa and Tangiers, where we were predictably ripped off and parted from several large value notes. The picture above is part of the story. If I can forget for a moment my own stupidity and loss of cash, then it was a fascinating insight into human psychology - mostly our own. Those guys are good at their game - and we were idiots. On the plus side we do have a gorgeous hand made [mass produced, or made by exploited children] silk [possibly rayon] high quality [for a couple of years at least] naturally dyed [with toxic chemicals] rug [ok, it is a rug]. A happy memory with which to furnish our new house.

I'm not bitter though. It was interesting, and an experience which the majority of tourists to this strange, wild, damaged city have - and the rug is quite nice.

Last chicken picture ...

Today we rehome Margie, who has now been on her own for two weeks and looking very doleful. She is going to Upminster to the home of a very kind Reverend and his family, who have offered to add her to their two existing chickens. It's going to be a very sad day in our household and I am bolstering all my emotional strength to say goodbye to chicken keeping for a while. The next few months are going to be hard enough, juggling giving notice, finding a job, purchasing a house and moving north all in a very short time, so I guess it's for the best.

Mind you, we have to catch her and get her in a box first, which could take all day, or week. She's an agile little creature. Nothing quite so amusing as watching people trying to catch chickens.

Just to say: there were nine people. And it took me several hours each way to get there. And I had to listen to a very long and quite boring presentation given by a large breathless man. A good presentation does not last for one hour, imho.

Hilarious. I am speaking at a conference tomorrow, which (when held previously) attracts a couple of hundred of people. I've been somewhat worried about this for a while because I'm doing the talk on behalf of someone else, and as such, there are some areas of expertise I don't have but must still mention. My worst nightmare is being asked a question to which I don't know the answer, although this is considerably less daunting when coming from my usual audience of 17 year olds. This event is for adults.

Yesterday I rang the organiser to find out about the venue, and she told me that in fact, she was about to cancel the event, because there are only 13 people coming ... Well, this and the predictions for a hundred feet of snow can only mean one thing; it's all going to go pear shaped anyway.

Spring is coming and everything changes

What a beautiful weekend it's been - in weather terms. Normally I would find the feel of the sun and the light so uplifting, but I've been fraught about my poor remaining chicken. As you can see above, she's been trying to find her little companion. Actually, I'm sure this isn't quite true, and I am guilty of anthromorphising, but one chicken is definitely a lonely sight to behold. If all goes well, in a way, this week I will rehome her with someone who has other chickens, and we will go without for a while till we have moved north. I know it seems absolutely barmy being this soft on chickens but you wouldn't believe what chatty, funny little friends they are and especially when OH is working long shifts or nights. I will miss them so much, but I suppose it means I'll write about something else for a change.

The sky fell in on Chicken Licken

Carmella sadly had to be put to sleep last night. A strange euphemism but true in this case, with a large dose of anaesthetic, to remove her from what appeared to be suffering. I'm gutted. Meanwhile our remaining chicken, Margie, looks very lonely today. Maybe we will get some more, maybe not.

The secret is now out - we're moving to Birmingham. I'm leaving my job, my other half is leaving his job as a doctor, we're leaving our house and moving up there.

Blame MMC. Mutilating Medical Careers; Major Medical Cockup; whatever you want to call it. Thanks Patsy. Thanks Tony. Thanks BMA for sod all. Thanks all the other doctors who haven't stood up for their junior colleagues.

Needless to say, this upheaval pales into insignificance compared to our chicken loss. :(

Five days between postings isn't good enough, even if I have very few fans. But I have a secret that can't yet be told - ooh, seven magpies - even if it's total paranoia on my part to think anyone I know might read my blog. Let's just say brum brum. All will become clear very soon.

Meanwhile, back to daily life, I've done two medical interview sessions this week. It's a very small sample size to base any views on, but I can't help feeling that the UKCAT as a primary selector for medical applicants is not necessarily picking out the right people. But two sessions is not enough to make any judgements and in any case, this is no longer my business. It is hard to step back. This time around though, having watched other half go through junior medicine, I no longer feel that a rejection is such a bad thing - it seems to me that I'm simply saving them from a life of misery that none of them can currently comprehend.