Well thanks everyone for being so patient as I’ve coped with the increasing weirdness in my life. And a big thanks to Girl-Fren for filling in when I couldn’t be here. (She’s not lying… she does have great legs.)

I’ve been on a safari of sorts, gathering information of use to my bitter friends, as it is my life’s quest to bring all shades of usefulness and enlightenment everywhere I go.

As I didn’t take video of the event (not allowed, oddly), I’ll have to walk you through it. Imagine, if you will, a bus station. Not a truly awful bus station, but a moderately awful bus station. (I would have said airport, but the people in airports are often busy and important, and that really won’t do for this illustration.) Now imagine that the other persons in the bus station are all either sick or injured. Carry forward with the thought that you, also, are either sick or injured. (Getting uncomfortable yet?) Now for the final image… you get to sleep with a randomly chosen 5 of these people (in an “unconscious in the same room” sense, not in a red-hot-monkey-sex sense) for an indeterminate period of time. The rest of them are housed down the hall.

Welcome to an NHS hospital.

The only thing more depressing than this thought, I would think, is working in said hospital, because then even on the occasions you get to go home, you always know you’re coming back the next day. Much, I imagine, like being a prison officer doing his 25 to life.

Now, I’ve undergone this undercover undertaking for the express purpose of bringing back an account to the rest of the world. I should write a travel guide full of tidbits like what to take with you (disenfectant spray and snacks), what to order from the daily menu (nothing with meat… trust me), and what to wear (seems to be anything goes… fuzzy slippers are the current trend, along with worn terry robes and a vacant expression).

I will say that while it sounds pretty horrid, the worst part is being sick, obviously. Otherwise I think it would be a feast of humanity (so to speak… I wouldn’t recommend actually eating said roommates, as we don’t know what’s wrong with all of them) with which there really is no comparision. Sure you can people-watch in an airport, but until you’ve actually had a sleepover with someone, you don’t know them at all.

I should also report that it’s reaffirmed the fact that I really do like people. I know, I know… I’m supposed to be all bitter, and sometimes I can be, but how can you not like people after meeting dear Mrs. Boyd, who tickled the bottom of my foot with her cane as she walked by, having only spoken a couple of words in passing before that. And Anne, a 60 year old with an exploding spleen (at least that’s what I gathered through eavesdropping on her doctors) who, after a girl in her 20’s was introduced, and then forcibly removed from our room whispered, “My goodness that was dreadful, wasn’t it? I would imagine it was drugs-taking.” Then she flicked some dust off her bathrobe.

Mrs Ames seemed relatively nonplussed about the whole thing. When the doctor said “The nurse says you’re a bit confused about where you are,” she replied, “Well isn’t that impertinent!” I thought so too. Of all the nerve.

One woman spent the entire time knitting. I’m not sure she even realised she was in a hospital, as she looked exactly as I imagine she would have at home. Except at home she probably has a cat that chases her yarn as her needles clack clack clack away.

Another inmate woke me in the night to give me instructions on what to tell people if someone came looking for her. Which was sorta sweet, considering that no one had come looking for her in all the time we shared a room.

Hope is a beautiful thing, and the capacity for it is why I love people.

Look for a follow-up documentary called “Naps on a Train” to be airing on the BBC in March.

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I thought this story was the perfect example of people who get so wrapped up in the rules of life that they completely throw common sense out the window:  Girls Get Detention for Hugging .

MASCOUTAH, Ill. - Two hugs equals two days of detention for 13-year-old Megan Coulter.

The eighth-grader was punished for violating a school policy banning public displays of affection when she hugged two friends Friday.

“I feel it is crazy,” said Megan, who was to serve her second detention Tuesday after classes at Mascoutah Middle School.

“I was just giving them a hug goodbye for the weekend,” she said.

Am I the only one who thinks this makes the teachers fit the perfect stereotype of the crabby spinster hall monitor that you see on Saturday morning cartoons?  Their school manual clearly states that affection is against the rules…

“Displays of affection should not occur on the school campus at any time. It is in poor taste, reflects poor judgment, and brings discredit to the school and to the persons involved.”

Yes, I agree.  It’s the “huggers” that are discrediting your school, bureaucracy, and the entire education system. I wonder if this group also prohibits dancing on the grounds that when yer movin that fast, them demons get rite in ya.

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I want you all to know how traumatised I was to find out that the McDonald’s advert hamburgers were not, erm, actual food. Thanks Wendy and Brent for shattering my illusions!

Considering that in Britain, our Office of Trading Standards forced a cosmetics company to put “false eyelashes used” on the “after” picture of a mascara ad, I can’t believe that they allow people to sell us food by enticing us with plastic and play-doh. It really makes me quite nauseous. That’s like showing a BMW to advertise for a VW dealership. But not, because at least you can drive a VW, but you can’t eat plastic and play-doh. Well you can, but I wouldn’t recommend it.

There are just some illusions I want to keep, thank you very much. Because I have to confess that every time I went into a new McDonald’s location, I thought, yes, maybe this is the home of the fabled appetizing hamburger. Now there’s no point in even looking anymore.

Next thing you know you’re going to tell me there’s no point in watching mushrooms at night.

*sigh*

You people are just so mean!

*sigh*

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Well, the citizenship ceremony was a barrel of laughs. You might think I’m being sarcastic, but I’m really not. There were three other people other than my son and myself who were there to take part (plus a couple of visitors), two from Zimbabwe, bless them, and one from Brazil. Some of the funniest, not to mention goofiest, people I’ve met, and the woman running the ceremony just gave up on making it a solemn occasion, because nobody there was feeling particularly solemn. A good day out, overall.

Plus… I got a plate!

If you can’t read the inscription, it says “Presented by the Perth and Kinross Council on attaining British Citizenship”.  My son was disappointed he didn’t get a plate too, and the woman running the ceremony looked slightly concerned at his disappointment.  I told her not to worry, because he’d just put chips and cookies on it anyway.

And as hubby was driving us home, I examined the silver plate plate and pondered the inscription, thinking what a nice gesture it was, and I flipped it over … on the back it said… “Made in China”.   I guess the Scots are known for many wonderful things, but mass producing cheap commemorative knick-knacks isn’t one of them.

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Well, today is the big day. If you recall, back in August I took the British citizenship exam . Passed, of course, and today is the day I get to raise my right hand and swear my loyalty to queen and country or some such. I suppose it would be a good idea if I read the sweary bits before I go in, just in case I’m signing over my house or something.

I do recall however, that it starts out something like:

I do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare…

Really really truly truly I mean it I promise.

This is the option for people who, like myself, don’t feel comfortable with the “oath” version, in which you say something like:

I swear by Almighty God

So, you don’t have to bring the big guy into it… if you really really truly mean it.

Won’t be back this afternoon, because I’m planning to spend the afternoon finding out how to join the Scottish National Party… As soon as I really really truly swear my allegiance, I’m gonna hop on that Scottish separatist bandwagon and hoist the Saltire outside my house. We Scots have always been rebellious, and I have some catching up to do.

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