The Doctor's Note

Now then; does the title of this posting not sound like it could be the title to a Seinfeld episode? Quite natty I feel. Alas, that is where the joviality of this posting ends. Whilst I am sure that many of you reading this will find it hilarious, I do not.

You may remember that the week before last I was “off sick” all week. Knowing full well that any sick leave beyond three days in length had to be sanctioned by a doctor’s note, I took a calculated risk and decided to not attend the doctor. This was for several reasons:

1) I was not, in the conventional understanding of the word, sick.
2) 18 months ago when I took a [more conventional] week’s sick leave, I was not asked for any such doctor’s note upon my return.
3) I could not be bothered.

All was swell until late last week, when the “manager” asked me for my doctor’s note. I pleaded ignorance. This did not work. I said that I would see the doctor (as it happens, I shall be seeing him tomorrow) and mention it to him, knowing full well what he is likely to say to me. The hope was that it would buy me some time. It did not. Yesterday, the manager asked me again for the note – I can’t help but feel that if it was somebody else, she would not be this persistent. Put it this way, she has yet to be so persistent on anything work-related. I think this is turning into a witch-hunt, or at least a Budding Barrister hunt. Ignorance not having worked, my lawyer super powers then kicked-in and I unleashed my nuclear weapon: reasonableness. Why, I implored, would I go to the doctors after three days if I had flu? I know what’s wrong with me, getting out of bed or out of a chair is (when you actually do have a flu) a traumatic experience. Am I to be expected to venture out (nigh-on impossible when within the grips of flu) to the docs, only for him to say ‘you’ve got the flu, there’s nothing I can do or prescribe for you – just drink plenty of fluids, get plenty of rest and take paracetamol’? Come now. This approach worked not. Apparently, they need ‘some kind of record’.

Ok, so, before any of you start on this one, I know I’m in the wrong, but it has become a matter of principle (don’t say it!!) and, in fairness, I’m only taking back time which is owed me anyway. I feel like Bart Simpson when he witnesses the [lack of] assault on a French waiter by Diamond Joe Quimby’s nephew, but does not want to testify because then Principal Skinner will have the evidence he needs to prove that Bart was playing truant. My final assault, if pushed, will be that of expectation. Last time I was not asked for a doctor’s note, so I had the legitimate expectation that I would not need one this time. Furthermore, having phoned-in to the office every day whilst off, there was ample opportunity to instruct me accordingly at the time. Honestly; some people just have no morals!

Mmmmmmmmmm.....doughnuts......

The weekend has been and gone and it finally happened. I have spent the past two years in a residual state of excitement, waiting for the Simpsons Movie to come out. It came out. I watched. I enjoyed. I will not embellish any further for two reasons:

1) It is the Simpsons – nuff said
2) You will want to watch it (the eagle-eyed amongst you may have noticed the omission of the word “may”….not an accident).

What a shame that the same could not be said for The Transformers. I spent a similar amount of time waiting, and being excited for, this film. The weekend before last I watched. I did not enjoy. In truth, it was ok, but it could have been so much better. Those of you that have seen it will know what I’m talking about. I will not embellish any further for one reason:

1) I can’t be bothered.

After The Simpsons, I thought it would be a good idea to allow my sat nav to guide us through the City to get to our usual coffee place. I already knew the way, but I thought it would be quicker if I took the “suggested” route through the City. It was pouring with rain, I mean that really heavy stuff, which didn’t stop, and the traffic was awful. To compound issues, one of my friends was moaning about how I always took the advice of the sat nav and never listened to her, and how her way was much quicker. Broadly speaking, I was experiencing three thoughts in relation to her high-pitched whining.

1) I wish that she’d shut up.
2) She was right.
3) Bitch.

By the time we got there, needless to say, I needed that first espresso. The second one was plain greed. Anyway, that was Saturday. Sunday, in my infinite wisdom, I had decided would be a good day to accept an invitation to play in an invitation-eleven cricket match. To put things into perspective, I had not played a game of cricket in anger for well over a decade. It was actually pretty fun; the only drawback was that I was standing on Hampstead Heath for around 5 hours on a Sunday afternoon. It may have been nice to simply go back home in the early evening and then relax, whilst thinking ‘there are worse ways to spend a summer day’. But that is assuming you don’t have your regular Sunday night game of 5-a-side football. I was rather tired come the end of the evening – I shan’t be going to the gym tonight. And whilst my team may have lost the cricket, my team won the football. Welcome home.

The Ultimate Dilemma

Now then, as the title to this posting suggests, I was presented today with something of a doozy. You know when the milk is on the turn, but has not quite turned, and you realise it too late, only once you have made the tea/coffee? To drink or not to drink, that is the question. Whether tis nobler on the heart to drink or for the stomach to suffer the slings and arrows of milk outrageously past its sell by date? OK, well I might be waxing lyrical ever so slightly; in fact, the milk is actually a day before its sell by date. Anyway, what would you do? Especially if you were making tea for others in the office too? In keeping with the makings of a true lawyer, I tried to keep the costs to a minimum and used the milk; however, I gave fair warning and notice to the intended recipients and even offered them a sniff. They consented, albeit orally, to the use of the milk. The teas had white flecks floating in them. We all drank the tea. It was ok. Tomorrow it will not be.

Today is my first day back after throwing several days of sickies last week (I’m not saying how many – thank goodness this blog is anonymous). I thought that, as I’m leaving, I may as well make the most of it, and win back some of my time by means fair or foul, before pupillage begins. Why is it always so tough coming back to work after a brief leave of absence? Hmmm….this takes me to my next issue…..

Notice. I am contractually obliged to give one month’s notice. I have worked with my current employers for two and a half years or so and, overall, have had an OK relationship with the organisation. I have, however, found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place over this one. On the one hand, I want to give them as much notice as possible in order to find a suitable replacement (not that "I" could ever be replaced) yet, on the other, I don’t want to spend too long being the subject of how much annual leave has he taken or how many projects have to be rushed to completion investigations. And trust me, there will be. So, I have decided to settle on six week’s notice. As I am taking a few weeks break, that will mean giving notice at the beginning of August. Cripes! That’s a week away! Well at least I’ll have a degree of finality and can look forward to leaving. Ho hum. More soon.

Can’t help but get the feeling that I have become the tea bitch of our office. People are always praising my tea and coffee making abilities but could this be a shameful ploy to get me to do the honours on a more than regular basis? If it is, then its working. We all like to be complimented…..even if its for having the skill to put freeze dried caffeine into a mug, pour boiling water onto it and stir. Hey! Its harder than it looks!

I’v spent the last few days at work discovering the joys of facebook. How much fun is that? I’v heard it mentioned over the last six months or so but chalked it up as just another friends reunited type site and so ignored it. But then I got invited to join by a friend the other day…..there are soooooo many people I know there. I’m having so much fun. Ahem…..enough of that. I know I’m coming over rather childish but it really is fun…..I’m sure I’ll be bored of it by the end of the month.

Been thinking about the wig and gown some more. I suppose it makes sense to wait until the second sixth to buy them. It’d only gather dust between now and then anyway…..that and bore a huge hole in my bank account. Though, I am planning to dine at the Middle Temple before then, and its always nice to have your own gown, rather than use the ones they have on stock in the gents cloakroom. Longer sleeves for one thing. I know…..I’m being pedantic.

Torture in IKEA

It remains to be seen how often I will add posts to this blog but, as this is the first such posting, I will endeavour to describe what its purpose is.

I am due to be starting my pupillage in Autumn of this year and, whether it be catharsism or just plain old boredom, this blog is a record of events during and running up to pupillage. A word of warning for purists: in all likelyhood, there will be little related to pupillage until Septemberish....cripes, thats barely (I don't believe it....I actually wrote that last word as "bearly" before catching it!) 6 weeks away.

I have not yet bought a wig and gown as I can't bring myself to spend £700 (actually less than that but, after all the trimmings, it bumps up the price somewhat) on what is basically an archaic and unecessary extravagance......Ok, I admit it; I LOVE the idea of owning and wearing them and it whats most of us in bar school were working towards, but its a novelty which I know will last for precisely one hot, humid, itchy and sweaty day of court. More to the point, I won't actually need them until my second 6th (for those of you non-lawyers I really cannot be bothered to explain what this means....I have had to do this orally sooooooooooo many times before, so please don't take it as a reflection on my character. Other pupillage blogs that I have read have already tackled this anyway. Ironically, it would have been quicker and easier to just explain what it was than write the preceding couple of sentences. No matter). In any event, not sure I can justify spanking 700 squid on something that I shant even be using for over 6 months, but then I probably won't have the cash by then......suggestions?

Now to address the title of this blog. I was always under the impression that every hetrosexual man (possibly homosexual too; I'm sorry, i don't know, so I'll have to take that one under advisement) feels precisely the same way i do when it comes to being dragged to IKEA by one's partner. Think the caveman stereotype of the hunter-gatherer being led on a leash around a shopping arcade. Now change the leash for being clapped in irons and change the shopping arcade for IKEA. It seems not. I witnessed, with my very own eyes, countless males merrily meandering (is that not the best illiteration you've heard this year?) about, pointing out various chez lounges that may match the curtains. Sigh. Does this make me the last remaining bastion of male old-fashioned stubborness and pigheadedness? If so, fine. Thats a title I'll gladly take if it means no more trips to IKEA.

Now, I'm no human rights lawyer, but I'm pretty sure I could make a decent argument for these sorts of trips being contrary to The Human Rights Act. Don't believe me? Take a look. Article 3 provides that:

'No one shall be subjected to torture or to inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment'.

Have you ever been instructed by your [better?] half to bounce up and down on a bed with thousands of people looking on? Or worse still, lie down on it and try to get comfortable?!?!?!? Then there's the "sit on the sofa and look like you're enjoying it" command. I'm sorry, but if that isn't degrading treatment then I don't know what is. It might be a bit of a stretch, but I think you could also argue that its torture. You walk around and around the maze that is the standardized IKEA floorplan, its hot, its always packed, there are always screaming babies and, erm, am I the only one to notice this? THEIR STUFF IS CRAP!!! If you do make the mistake to buy a piece of furniture, you have to lug the box[es] to your car and load them up, which is always fun, and then unload them and assemble them yourself. Now call me a traditionalist, but isn't it easier on all our souls to just go into a normal shop, choose an item that grabs your fancy, pay them and have it delivered to your house already assembled. Before you mention cost, think how much time you would have saved and think how much money you would have saved on divorce settlements as a result of the ensuing arguments that always originate whilst walking around IKEA but last so, so much longer.

Hmmmm, I seem to have gone off on somewhat of a tangent. Sorry. Its purely because I genuinely do consider trips to IKEA to be torture. Worst of all, its always on a Saturday or Sunday. And why is it always sunny outside? Has anyone else noticed that? It was just like the glorious early summers of GCSE and A Level years 94 and 96. As I wander around the plywood beds and the glass sinks, all I can think of is: I could be at home right now with my feet up in my glorious [non-IKEA] recliner, in my underwear watching a movie or [come footy season] something on Sky Sports 1. That and...."why is she doing this to me? I'm so nice to her, why does she feel it necessary to hurt me so?.....heavy sigh.....