The Long Day Ends

So here we are at the end of an utterly fucked-up day.

In general news, I invited weaselbitch 'round so she could have some company and I could reassure myself that she really was alright -- you know, evidence of all the senses and all that. There was hugging, and we settled down to watch the news coverage. Then dodgyhoodoo finally made it home and you know I hugged him to within an inch of his life. Then we went out to have some food. It was all ... well, as good as it could be in the circumstances.

In my own life ... well, my arm is gradually improving, I think. At least, with everything that's been going on I haven't noticed it hurting so much. I don't think that's saying all that much, given the sheer havoc the anti-inflammatories are playing with my digestive system. And yet, between that and the bus nightmare, there's still this probationary. Whoopee. I'm strongly considering just calling them tomorrow and saying, "In the circumstances -- I'm still not 100%, the buses are jam-packed and it will take me several hours to get to and from Islington for a half-hour meeting -- I would appreciate it if we could reschedule for Monday". However, if they don't take that as a reasonable suggestion, I'm screwed because by that time, it will be too late for me to actually get to the meeting. So I either put myself through hell to get to this stupid meeting (shows willing) or ring them up and basically say, "No way in hell" (shows good judgement).

I'll decide in the morning. I didn't get much sleep last night so I may as well at least try now.

Parental Discretion

*sigh* You gotta love my Mum.

Not being all that sarcastic, really. For one thing, she (unlike David) didn't press me for my land-line number after yesterday's fiasco. Just said, "Glad you're okay and that you got in contact, I let your father and great-uncles etc know we were all okay, talk to you soon". Hooray for the new perspective thing from Mum.

However, e-mail from her this morning was amusing, once you got past the whole "stepmother in palliative care, Dad really low" part. Frankly, I'm not in the best of moods either, between being in pain from the inflammation (although that does seem a bit better), ill from the anti-inflammatories (bleeeeeeegh) and people blowing up London yesterday, so I'm not sure I'm keen to get in contact with a man who ignores me until he needs me, dismisses my dreams and ambitions utterly and has the socio-political acumen of a Backstreet Boys CD, just because he's blood-related to me and it's the 'nice thing to do'. Though, gods help me, I'm probably going to do it anyway. Just not right now. Random people tried to kill my city for no good reason, and there are people who actually give a shit about me even when it's inconvenient who need my support right here, right now. And there's only so much me, y'know?

In any case, she signed off with "Off to do the marriage thing. I'll be in touch when we get back."

My response was: "Blessings to you and David on your wedding day. 'The marriage thing'; heh. Way to be blasé about it, Mum. :)" Seriously; they've only been working towards getting married for, what, twelve years? Sheesh.

Open Letter To A Terrorist

Dear People Who Blew Up Our Public Transport Yesterday,

Well, that was quite the stunt you pulled, wasn't it? I mean, seriously -- four explosive devices, and possibly four lives (if suicide bombers were involved), and you managed to severely disrupt the entire London public transit system. But then again, so do leaves on the tracks, the wrong kind of snow, the wrong kind of rain and people looking at it funny.

Oh, yeah, and you killed people, and hurt lots more. Way to go. Someone Up There is going to have words with you about that, particularly if you did it in Their name.

Honestly, guys, I have a vague understanding about the point of terrorism. It's supposed to be about instilling fear into the population and the government in power, predominantly so that any demands you have will be met or any causes you may support will at least be recognised. It's a power play; we all know that. And to be fair, you went about it in a pretty impressive way. Or would have, if you hadn't picked London as your target. Let's look at London's history, shall we?

1666 -- the Great Fire of London. A baker in Pudding Lane forgot to douse his oven and started a conflagration that burned for five days and destroyed most of the city.

7 September 1940 through 16 May 1941 -- the Blitz. The Germans bombed the UK, focusing mostly on London.

4-7 December, 1952 -- the "Great Smog". A high-pressure weather system trapped pollution and smog near the ground, and respitory and cardiac distress killed some 4,000 people.

June 1982 -- The IRA begins a bombing campaign that will last for one and a half decades by blowing up Hyde Park and Regent's Park. Between this point and the cease-fire in 1997, the IRA bombed Harrods, Downing Street, the City and Canary Wharf, and that's just the main ones.

18th November, 1987 -- King's Cross station burns, trapping thousands of people inside.

April 1999 -- a nail-bombing campaign from a group known as the White Wolves, targeting the pavement outside a supermarket on the high street in Brixton, a car boot in Brick Lane and the Admiral Duncan pub on Old Compton Street.

I think you see the point I'm trying to make here. London is a city of survivors, of people who can turn around, look destruction in the eye and say, "Meh; we'll sort it when things have settled". And then they do. People get hurt, people get killed, but they will not be beaten. These people remember Winston Churchill, no matter how young they are.

So what were you trying to achieve? I've heard nothing about your cause. I don't know your agenda. And you've certainly made no demands, because the laughter of a few million refusing-to-be-cowed Londoners hasn't reached me yet. Seriously, I want to know why you did it. If it was in the name of Islam, you're a lunatic. If it was because we were involved in the Iraq war, you're punishing the wrong people. If you want anything from us, you won't get it. After all, you haven't got the reaction you wanted, so why expect anything else?

And the final question: was it worth it? Was this reaction -- was the small amount of carnage, the mild, transient fear that you did manage to instill in people, the panic of a man who doesn't even run this country (because let's face it; Bush looked terrified) and the questionable notoriety of being the cause of yet another public transport fuck-up -- really worth the expense, the loss of your own lives if you were suicide bombers, the risks? Was it really worth it when people are banding together and muddling through, and frankly creating the exact opposite atmosphere to the paranoiac culture you apparently want?

Regards,

A London denizen

Doctor Do-Right

I remember my doctor in Enfield, whose sole mission in life seemed to be to patch me up to the very bare minimum it would take to get me functional and get me the hell out of her office.

My new doctor is not like this.

My new doctor poked and prodded, found out what the other doctor (emergency surgery last week) prescribed, listened to me when I said I didn't want another prescription because the side effects were awful, explained that it was probably nerve problems caused by something swelling somewhere and then reached for the "sign people off work form". I told him I was probably going back on Monday. He informed me that if it still hurt, it was probably a bad idea to go back straight away -- something about "companies take care of themselves and will squeeze you for every drop of blood" and to not let them pressure me back until I was better.

So to sum up, instead of "I don't believe you can't go back to work when you're in pain", I get signed off for another week. Of course, I have to finish the course of anti-inflammatories (blech) but at least I don't have to take any more after those are gone.

I like my new doctor.