Minutes of Meeting dated 05.11.13. 15.30pm
Those Present:
Jane McGuire – Unit Manager
Claire Green – Assistant Unit Manager
Andrew Reid – Nurse In Charge
Peter Welsh – Health Care Assistant
Mandy Fraser – Health Care Assistant
Jean Duncan – Clerical Assistant (Taking Minutes)
Continue reading “For The Best by Hugh Cron – Adult content”
Put yourself in my position. You can’t stop thinking about something that happened here years ago, when you were just a child.
Three boys wake up one morning. Three beds vacated eagerly.
You remember the incident but never really knew the details. Not knowing means your thoughts are just looping around uselessly.
Phillipa had always known that she would be a nurse. The admission tests for University were easy because she was confident, no panic or night-time angst for Phillipa. She was born to be a nurse.
The University was attached to a teaching hospital with a world-renowned reputation. It would look great on her CV as she climbed the career ladder. She was a little regretful that they weren’t required to wear caps, crisp white aprons with scissor chain attached and black tights, but she made a supreme effort with the trouser uniform and always appeared smart, clean, fragrant and fresh.
At last, at the end of the Preceptorship, which of course she had zipped through in the shortest time possible, Phillipa felt that she was at last truly “Nursing” and was joyfully taking her turn at being “Nurse in Charge”.
“Everything happens for a reason, Josie, is the lamest philosophy – if you can actually call it a philosophy – I ever heard.”
“I’m sorry, I– ”
“–Why do you say such things?”
“I don’t know, Steve. I thought that–”
“–You don’t think Josie. You just repeat stuff other people say. Usually stupid people.”
“That’s a bit strong, Steve, isn’t it?”
Continue reading “Everything Happens For A Reason by Adam West”
Paul sighed as he walked into the unit. He didn’t want to be there but his mother had insisted. He walked into the lounge and saw his grandpa sitting in the corner. He grabbed a chair and sat down beside the old man.
Continue reading “Reminiscing by Hugh Cron – Adult Content.”
It’s bedtime now. Santa will only come after you have gone to sleep.
‘Oh Grandpa, tell us a story.’
Only if you both stay still, no jumping around. Come on now, settle under the blankets and listen. Let me tell you about Grandma’s Christmas bauble.
It was a dark wintry night and we were huddled together reaching towards the small fire, stretching our hands into the warmth. No one spoke because they were afraid, so afraid that if they slept they might not wake in the morning.
‘We’ll wake, won’t we Grandpa?’
Shussh, let me tell the story.
I thought I’d take an umbrella. I peered out of the window and drew back the curtain. It was dark and cloudy. I didn’t think – snow – but perhaps rain, sleet, maybe. So, yes I decided, an umbrella. That was back then, when I was brave, when I thought I could do it today. That was when I operated on a “normal” level, sane.
The communal bathroom was a lot cleaner than she thought. This was the first time that she’d been in. She reckoned dust would be more of a problem than shit as everyone must have used their en-suites.
Chapter 1
The more cynical residents of Pynchon, PA claimed jam would go out of fashion before the town boasted an inhabitant of note, but the place was very much like thousands of small towns across America. It was a fair to middling blot on the landscape with thirty thousand residents, drive-thru burger joints, and an underachieving baseball team; and its attractions included a permanent fairground of rusting carousels, a correctional facility for troublesome women, and a jam factory.
Continue reading “Pynchon McCool: an introduction in twelve chapters by Michael Dhillon”
Ray had been listening in for some time now. It was fair to say that not much happened. He was paid regularly and managed to make ends meet, sure. Most of the time, that was all he cared about. The days were hardly springing by like joyous animals, but neither were they crawling in the vein of pained snails. Rent got paid, the cupboards got refilled and occasionally he treated himself to a trip to the local cinema. Work was work though, and he turned up daily at nine in his suit and tie, draping his jacket on the hook behind the door, sitting at his computer, and donning his pair of headphones. Continue reading “Listening In by Jon Green”
literally stories 