Tag Archives: Summer

The Beginning of the End

Blog, In Darkness and In Light, Life in Norway, , ,

Sunrise/sunset: 02:12/23:29 Daylength: 21hr17min

You know, it’s odd. For the past few weeks, it’s been difficult to write this blog because there was something I wasn’t telling you. Starting this is actually hard as well, but it has to be done because this week, I handed in my notice at Mattilsynet. I guess some regular readers will be surprised. As you know, I love my job here, so it has been a difficult decision to make, but I am moving back to Scotland.

This decision has its roots in a number of factors. The main one is that I want to be nearer to Mum and Dad. Last winter, round about Christmas time, my dad was not well. He was having trouble breathing and they rang 111 for advice, only to find that an ambulance had been sent. Dad didn’t go to hospital in the end, but the most difficult thing for me was that I didn’t hear about it until several days afterwards. When I asked my mum why, she told me that they hadn’t wanted to worry me. That was understandable, but frustrating. In Norway, there is a lot of flexibility over time off in emergencies. Had I known, I might have been able to fly home, although it probably wasn’t necessary in this case. But if it had been more serious, I have no doubt my boss would have allowed me to go.

But the not telling threw up all kinds of complications. If I did have to go home without much warning, it could take than twenty four hours to get there. In winter, if the weather was really bad or there were no flights, it could be much longer. And anyway… it also crossed my mind that the not telling wasn’t going only in one direction. A long time ago, in my first years at university, before the age of mobile phones and easy communication, my mum joked that she knew things were going well when she didn’t hear from me. When I was intensely homesick at the start, I called them every day. I spent many hours on that little-known payphone in the basement of the halls of residence. When my social life took off, sometimes there could be days and weeks when she couldn’t get hold of me. But the situation is reversed now. Knowing that my parents are physically out of reach, when things are going badly, I don’t ring them, because I don’t want to worry them. In this age of communication, we are failing to communicate.

But my parents aren’t the only factor. Anyone who has been through the last half year with me on this blog will know that last winter was just too much. And (final straw time) it would all have been bearable if Mr Abusive and Husleietvistutvalget (HTU) hadn’t done their worst. The (to me) incomprehensible decision taken by HTU, to believe him when he was exaggerating and actually lying, even though I pointed out some very obviously fraudulent behaviour, has made me feel differently about how well protected I am in Norway. I always thought that the system here would protect me and it didn’t. There’s no doubt their decision has been significant in the north of Norway losing someone who was performing a useful function.

So what happens now? I have three months notice to work, so I will be here through much of the busy season in the abattoir. And then after that, I have to get some of the contents of the house over to the UK, as well as Triar and myself. It is unexpectedly difficult, importing a dog into the UK. Given that pet passports have made quarantine largely a thing of the past, I thought he and I would just bob on a plane and would go together. But it seems that dogs entering the UK on planes have to go as cargo. You actually have to hand them over to a carrier who puts him on a plane you can’t travel on and they have to be met at the other end by someone else. From here it would be at least two flights and I can’t be at both ends. The idea of Triar, on his own, through two flights, and being met at the end with people he’s never met just seems unbearable. And so he and I will go together to the UK on trains and boats.

And where are we going? I am moving to Dumfries. Back in the nineties, I worked in both Stranraer and Castle Douglas, so the area is quite familiar. I have already been in contact with a friend who lives there and I know I have other friends who are not far away. And I keep looking things up and feeling excited about things that I would have taken for granted before. For example, Dumfries has a hospital and it has an accident and emergency department. It has always concerned me, living here, that the nearest hospital is a two hour drive away. There is a library in Dumfries as well. I mean, there are libraries here, of course, but they are full of books in Norwegian. I read to relax, and despite being fluent in Norwegian, reading anything still requires a fully switched on brain. It’s not the same.

And of course all those laws and instructions I have to read at work and all the reports I have to write… all of it is hard for me. I write in English with a fluency that has allowed me to have books published. I told one of my new colleagues that the very idea of doing it all in English instead is just amazing and she made a face, but she just has no idea. I guess I should add here, that the new job I will be doing is, on paper at least, almost the same job I was doing in Finnsnes when I arrived here. There will be welfare visits on farms and monitoring and dealing with any outbreaks of notifiable diseases. As I said at the start, I love my job. I have long thought I would love it even more if I could only do it in English, so now I’m going to give it a try.

So here I am. The house is being prepared for sale. Selling after only a year isn’t necessarily going to be plain sailing. I bought it for less than the asking price because it wasn’t selling. I had really thought I would be here for years and years and could sort out all kinds of things and grow bushes to hide the sound of the cars passing on the road nearby, but it hasn’t worked out that way.

So now, I am preparing everything, and just hoping someone likes it enough. We’ve done a lot of work in the last year, building a fence, fixing the hole in the roof and so on. The estate agent put me in touch with a plumber, so now that job has been done at least. But other faults have cropped up. We discovered a cracked plank on the edge of the roof a couple of weeks back when the gutters were being checked. I got a quotation, thinking I could fix it, but it’s too expensive. And having done that, I will have to let the surveyor know. If I know about a fault, it’s fraudulent not to declare it. I just have to hope that the surveyor doesn’t hit me too hard. And there are other things that weren’t checked because of the snow. He’s coming out on Wednesday, so once he’s been, I will have a better idea of the value of the house.

So a large chunk of this weekend will probably be taken up painting the garage. I have also bought mouse brushes to put in the gap underneath the wood on the sides of the house. I will try to take pictures to explain that for next week. The day after I put everything in motion, I had to finish painting the ceiling in the hall. We took down a wooden partition and it had left a mess and I had been putting it off for weeks, but now it’s done and it looks great. I don’t know if you have watched Dexter, but I really felt like I was in Dexter territory once I had the hallway prepared!

And after the garage is painted and the mouse brushes are in place, there’s just the front steps and the veranda to clean and stain. At least, if I buy a house in Scotland, I know how to do a lot more DIY than I used to!

Outdoors, it’s still very beautiful. Here are some photos from the last week.

And finally, for the foodies amongst you, John was on holiday in Paris for a few days. Obviously he’s becoming a chip off the old block, because the only photo he’s sent, as evidence that he was having a good time, was of some pastries from a lovely bakery they found for breakfast. So here you go fellow foodies. Feast your eyes on this.

See you next week!

Perspective

Blog, In Darkness and In Light, Life in Norway, , ,

Sunrise/sunset: Up all day.

I thought I’d start this week with a dog level view of the world. This isn’t exactly what Triar would see, because dogs don’t see red, so his world is probably toned in yellow and blue, but at least I got down to his level.

He spends a lot of time running through all those plants at the moment, which must make a change from sinking into deep snow!

When I was growing up, the world I knew was very much split in terms of east and west. There were huge chunks of Europe cut off from each other by the so-called Iron Curtain. Of course that’s a western metaphor, or at least I assume it is. I don’t know how we were regarded by those living within the Soviet Union (perhaps that’s a question for next week!) but I know that I was told that those living there had it a lot harder than us, partly because of a lack of goods and partly because there was an air of suspicion hanging over everyone and a risk of awful things happening if you were found to be in any way less than supportive of the regime in power.

Back in the south of Norway, one of my best friends had grown up in East Berlin. She told me that though there was a poorer selection of food and much less choice, there were things to value as well. Education for all was free at all levels, and everyone, whatever their job, could educate themselves to learn to do it better. And those jobs, though they might not pay brilliantly, were very secure and everyone had a job. There were free sports available as well. In some ways, life was less precarious and safer, from her perspective and my friend obviously valued that feeling of safety over the greater selection of goods available to those of us on the other side.

But I spent some time talking to Konstantin about his life within a very different part of the Soviet Union, living in Latvia. His story was very different and for him, the air of suspicion and the risk of awful things happening was very much more to the fore. Though he was born and grew up in Latvia, his family were Russian. Even back then, he says, there was huge tension between those who spoke Latvian and those who spoke Russian. He compared it to the tensions between the Sami people and modern Norwegians, though not as it is now, in Norway, but as it probably was thirty years ago.

He went to university in Moscow and while he was there, there was a war in Chechnya and a friend of his from that area was simply told one day that his family back home had been entirely wiped out and there was no point in coming back.

And now, with things becoming ever more unsettled, life back in Latvia for the families regarded as Russian (who may have never been to Russia) has become desperately difficult again. He tells me that some of the Russian speakers are now being forced to take exams in the Latvian language and that, if they fail, there is a thread to deport them to Russia. I asked him whether it was like the language tests in Norway for those wanting citizenship. There is a language requirement here, but those over 67 are not required to pass. That isn’t the same in Latvia, he told me. There are no exemptions, and of course those who have lived all their life there and are now old, are therefore the most likely to be living under this awful threat. Many of them don’t have passports and are not eligible to get one, a situation that seems unutterably awful.

Sometimes at the moment, the world seems very unstable to me, in comparison with how it was when I was growing up, but speaking to Konstantin brings it home to me that stability perhaps isn’t some kind of norm that we can expect. He also said that, given that kind of instability, there were a lot of people who might have been civilised in different circumstances, but were made worse by the hardships and would grab any opportunity that came, even if that meant killing someone. No wonder he has found such value living here in Norway, though he says, even now, he has to temper what he writes on Facebook as the authorities back home still watch out for anyone posting negative things and he could find himself summoned by police back there.

I am sorry that this week’s entry is rather bleak, but I am glad that those from the former Soviet Union are, at least for now, able to travel and I can meet them and try to understand better how it felt to be on the other side of that “curtain”. Though I grew up to the background of the Cold War, it was mostly a distant threat, with occasional crescendos of concern when faced with leaflets and information about what to do in the event of nuclear bombs dropping.

And I am also gradually finding out that Konstantin, who keeps a lot of things running in the abattoir, has an interesting history as a veterinary surgeon. He was obviously quite high up in the ranks back home, but values his current position with more limited levels of responsibility. He obviously finds a lot of peace in Norway, fishing and learning about geology. I hope that, in time, his position will be stabilised further.

Anyway, I have to go now and buy some fence posts and collect the long brushes to insert into the gap under the wooden walls of my house to stop all the mice in the region invading my loft next winter. I will leave you with some pictures of the incredible burst of summer as experienced in the far north under the twenty four hour sunlight. Have a good week!

Stinky Dog!

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Sunrise/sunset: Up all day.

I’ve been unwell and mostly at home for the past two weeks, so there isn’t much to write. I’m definitely on the mend now though.

I still haven’t managed to get a plumber out and now they are all going on holiday. It was similar in parts of Scotland when I was growing up. There were “trades holidays” when almost everyone involved in building work of any kind took time off and it became almost impossible to get anyone out. At least it’s for a set period, though here it’s four weeks, rather than two. I spoke to someone on Thursday who has placed me on a waiting list and said they will call when they get back. He seemed relatively reliable, so fingers crossed.

John’s friend Bowen has been coming round to cut the lawn. That is a huge boon as he has a sit on lawn mower and the garden is a bit too big to easily cut with a normal mower. When I moved in, the grass at the back of the house hadn’t been cut for a long time. John strimmed it before winter came, but now I’m hoping Bowen can get it back in shape. Now there’s a fence and a definite line between the cut lawn and the wild growth outside!

Unfortunately the fence is not animal proof yet. This means that I cannot, yet, let Triar run free in the garden. It also means that the beautiful foxes we see now and then can poo wherever they like. Triar has an enormous love for fox poo and delights in rolling in it whenever possible. The ecstasy on his face is quite a sight to behold. Not so much his face when he’s in the shower afterwards, but he does have a very compelling sad face when he’s all wet afterwards. Is it worth it? I guess it must be!

We have twenty four hour daylight at the moment. It’s quite difficult when you wake up and the sun is shining around the blind and you really have no idea whether it’s one a.m. or four or eight. Everything is now growing. The contrast with winter is incredible.

Anyway, as you can probably tell, I don’t have much to say. Normal service will (hopefully) resume next week. Take care!

A Tale of Two Walks

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This week’s post will mainly be about two walks I took this week, the first with my dad, the second with John, but first a quick update on things I forgot last week when I was unable to use my computer. My health is moderately stable. Because of the likelihood of some kind of blockage of my bile duct, I have been eating a low fat diet. This has mostly worked, but any time I deviate from it, I develop pain. It’s nowhere near as bad as the pain before I had my gall bladder removed ten years ago. It’s only somewhat physically troublesome, but psychologically more so.

On the subject of submissions and publishers, there’s nothing much to report. Another couple of rejections, but with some positive feedback about my writing. Too commercial, seems to be the main objection at present, which presumably means it doesn’t fit the style they’re looking for, and not that they think it will sell too well. One editor gave more specific feedback that she “wasn’t sure [it] had quite the escapist, romantic tone [she was] looking for at present”. She did say it was well written though, so I hope that somewhere there is an editor who will fall in love with it. Commercial fiction within traditional publishing tends to fall into very specific genres at the moment and what I’ve written doesn’t fall neatly into any of them, so it was always going to be challenging.

I guess it would be odd to write this without also noting that John, Andrew and I have ended up in the UK at a time of mass upheaval in parliament. The astonishing events of the past week, with dozens of resignations within the Conservative Party, resulting in the resignation of Boris Johnson (though he hasn’t gone yet which, given his recent maverick activities, seems risky) have been something to behold. It has interested me, watching from Norway, that in the UK press at least, it has appeared that Johnson has been credited with handling the pandemic marvellously, based mostly on his roll-out of vaccinations. Watching from the relative calm of Norway, with its early lockdown and only marginally slower vaccination roll out, it seemed bizarre that he received quite so much credit, but of course I don’t know what it felt like on the ground. I can’t say I’m sad to see him go. He seems an unfit person to be in power, with his history of lies and profligacy, but he’s obviously one of those divisive figures that some people love and others don’t.

Anyway, onto the walks and photographs. I went for a walk on Sunday with my dad. After not seeing him for two and a half years, all the time wondering whether we would ever do such a thing again, it felt wonderful to be out in the Yorkshire countryside: a very precious moment together. We walked to Langcliffe, which is a village not far outside Settle. We walked past an old mill, then on up the hill to Langcliffe itself, which is even more charming than Settle, with its terraced stone houses, quiet country church, and village green. We called into the village institute, where volunteers were serving tea and cakes. It felt very much like being inside a James Herriot novel (though without the animals, obviously) which I found very pleasing!

View of Ribblesdale through a wooden farm gate

The second walk was a 7km hike with John. We drove to Malham, then went up the almost 400 steps to the top of Malham Cove.

On the top of Malham Cove is a limestone pavement. It’s amazing to look out over the valley below from this incredible structure with its weathered stone, the cracks between the rocks filled with ferns and tiny flowers.

Having reached the top of Malham Cove, and finding my second wind, we decided we would go on a circuit from the top of the cove to meet a road that went back down into Malham village. As we reached the road, we spoke to a couple we met, who had come up via Janet’s Foss, so rather than walking down the road as planned, we took another detour down the shady river valley, past Janet’s Foss (my Norwegian friends will know what that is, as Foss in Norwegian for waterfall) and back through some gorgeous green pasture, where cattle stood knee deep in grass.

We finished with a well deserved drink in the Buck Inn. A lovely end to a wonderful sunny day.

Hunting High and Low

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Sunrise/sunset: Up all day.

When I applied for this job last summer, one of the things that attracted me was the very varied workload. Working in remote places where relatively few people live has some (often unconsidered) side-effects, and that is one of them. If you are a (human) GP who lives in a city, you are likely to have many specialist centres available. If you have a complex case, then referring them is the obvious thing to do. But if you are a GP on a remote island, where referral is complex, where a hospital stay might mean that family cannot visit and where sometimes the weather means that nobody can get on or off the island, your workload, and the scope of things you might attempt to deal with locally is likely to be quite different. One isn’t necessarily better than the other, but they might appeal to different people, and the latter is more like the work I do here. In other areas, those who work in animal welfare in the field are a separate team from those who work in the slaughterhouse. Their teams might be big enough so that their members can specialise. But here, it’s mostly me and Thomas locally, and we cover a very large area and a whole range of different animals.

For large chunks of the summer, I will be working in the abattoir. The staff who work there full time will be on holidays and for now, I am the default stand-in. This is slightly complicated by the fact that the other part of my job seems to be speeding up, rather than slowing down, but most vets will recognise that there is a seasonal pattern to our work. I have accrued several days of flexitime, most it over the past few weeks, but it isn’t looking like I’ll be taking them any time soon.

This week couldn’t have been much more varied. I have been working on a list of places that need follow-up checks. These are farms where there were problems in the past, where Mattilsynet has recorded that the law has been broken. I’ve been creating files showing the timelines of events and the specific areas that needed improvement. The next stage is to follow up with visits, but in order to work on the histories, I’ve had to polish up my Excel skills, which have been sadly neglected in recent years.

Thomas and I also carried out an emergency readiness exercise, which is done twice a year. This is aimed at making sure that if there was a major outbreak that was a serious threat, either to other animals or to people, that we would be prepared. Here’s a picture of me, decked out in protective gear that we might use if there was an outbreak of avian flu.

I hope it never arises. It is incredibly hot inside the double layer of protective clothing. Those who work for the likes of Doctors Without Borders fill me with admiration. And of course, at the present time, there are staff working with COVID who have been spending weeks and months working in protective clothing that perhaps they had never seriously anticipated using. To anyone reading who has been faced with it, you are amazing.

On Friday, I had my day planned out. It was going to be a relatively pleasant day in the office. I had a few things that needed to be updated and I needed to check the lists of animals coming in to the abattoir next week. It’s someone’s job to check through the farmers who are sending in their livestock in case there’s anything in particular that we need to follow up. There was also a departmental meeting to attend, which I have only remembered now as I’m writing this!

But instead of a quiet day with an early finish, it turned into one of those wild-card days that end up being the high points of the year. I knew Thomas was going out for the day. I assumed he was blood testing some animals in our area that have recently been diagnosed with a disease that’s being tracked, so I asked him if that was what he was doing, and whether he needed a hand.

It turned out he wasn’t blood testing. Instead, he had been called out to assess the possible welfare implications of moving a group of reindeer from one area of Senja to another, using a helicopter. Reindeer herding is a traditional Sami occupation. There are families who have been using traditional summer and winter pastures for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. Back then, the land was presumably not owned by anyone in the way it is now.

But since more modern styles of agriculture have become normal, the rights of each group can come into conflict. If you are feeding your cattle on one pasture and are growing hay in another, the last thing you want is a group of reindeer trekking through. Arguably, this should have been discussed when the land was bought, but that too will be largely historical as farms are often handed down in families and the sale might have occurred generations back. What was done in the past can’t be undone. Fortunately there are some landowners who are happy to have the reindeer on their land. If I was building a holiday home in the wilds, or had land I wasn’t using for farming, I’d love to be in an area where I was likely to wake up to reindeer in the garden.

When conflict arises, sometimes it’s best for everybody if the reindeer are moved, but that isn’t easy. There are times of year when the herd comes together for migration, and that is when they are generally taken to new places. The herders work with the natural behaviour patterns of the animals. Moving them in the middle of summer when there is plenty of good grazing, and perhaps young calves at foot, is not so straightforward. And that is where the potential helicopter comes in.

Anyway, Thomas suggested that if I had time, I would be welcome to come along. It would be useful to have an extra pair of eyes and also helpful if I can start to learn more about the political landscape here in the north of Norway.

Assessing the welfare implications of such a move requires an examination of two separate factors. One is looking at the landscape. We drove round the likely route, looking in particular at fences they might have to bypass or leap. The other factor is the reindeer themselves. Moving a group of adult male reindeer is very different from moving heavily pregnant females, or mothers with calves at foot. Ideally, Thomas wanted to inspect the animals. He wanted to assess whether there were any pre-existing injuries that might make running at speed and jumping over obstacles a high risk.

But of course, it’s not always easy to find groups of animals that have freedom to roam. We hit lucky on our first location. A group of nine reindeer were standing at the top of a sloping pasture. One of the herders had dogs, but as the reindeer flew off at full pelt as soon as they caught sight of the dogs, it was obvious that herding them that way could be almost impossible.

We only saw them from a distance. I assumed what I saw was a buck with a group of females. There was one magnificent male, dark in colour, bigger than the others and with impressive antlers. But I was told that in fact it was a group of nine males. How they could tell, I’m not sure, but I hope in time I will learn a little more about them and it will seem a little less foreign.

I had assumed, from the first stop, that finding the rest would be straightforward. What actually happened was that we spent the rest of the day playing the most spectacularly unsuccessful game of hide and seek I have ever been involved in.

But for an unsuccessful day, it was very satisfying. If you’re going to waste a day in the wilderness looking for elusive creatures, it might as well be done in one of the most beautiful places on earth in the early part of the summer. I was told before I came here, that the summer was intense. That the contrast between the white of winter and the green of summer was extraordinary. But what I hadn’t reckoned with was the flowers. They are everywhere, from roadsides and pastures to the forest floor. Different sizes, different hues, stretching out as far as the eye can see.

We were at the southern end of the island – a part I haven’t really explored before. And as well as trees and pastures, there were beaches and bays with white sand and turquoise water that looked more tropical than arctic to my eyes.

I was very glad I had started my fitness project a few weeks back. Though the general pace of life in Norway is slower than that of the UK, Norwegians walk much faster. When the group were walking, I could mostly keep in touch with them, though at one point everyone set off and scrambled up a steep slope. It was heavily strewn with fallen branches and knee high undergrowth that caught on my bootlaces and clothes. I found it so tough that I had to give up halfway to the top. Had I not, I have the feeling I might have ended up flying headfirst down the hill into one of the alarming looking nests of fire ants.

Still, Thomas offered to take a photo of me at the beach, so here it is. This is me: a typical day at the office!

In the end, we didn’t see any more reindeer in the wilds of Senja. We had to return home having inspected only half the group we had wanted to see. But we were assured the remainder were also all male and that there were no calves. Most of the fences were well constructed as well. It is now illegal to build new barbed wire fences in Norway, so hopefully they will gradually disappear. Thomas gave a cautious go ahead to the move. The owners of the reindeer will be given time to make the attempt themselves, but if that doesn’t work, the helicopter may be needed. Thomas told me that the ownership of the reindeer is also complicated. The herding is very much a family business, so children in the family are likely to own a couple of reindeer alongside their parents’ larger share. All in all, it was a very interesting day and by the end of it, I felt I had learned a few basic facts about how herding works. It’s a very different way of life.

We returned to the office, where I had to speedily download a link for a website to my phone. There’s work to be done next week that I probably should have prepared for yesterday. With a bit of luck, I might be able to fit most of it in on Monday, assuming nothing else comes up. But I wouldn’t have missed yesterday for anything. Sometimes you have to seize the moment. And if Thomas is reading, he might be pleased and surprised to hear that I actually found two reindeer on my way home. For some unexplained reason, this mother and her calf were lurking in the Co-op. Appropriately, they were standing right beside the Polar Bread. Now that really isn’t something you see every day!

Spray that Again

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Holiday season has begun. This week Scary Boss Lady was off for her summer break. Just in case we were thinking of having a wild party with the Dechra rep who had made an appointment to come and tell us about their range of skin products, she left her daughters Ena and Sara in charge. Tornado Tawse was also presiding over the nursing duties and therefore the whole clinic was a hive of efficiency. Four pallets of pet food arrived at lunchtime on Thursday and within about ten seconds, the entire delivery had been redistributed onto the shelves. Before I knew it on Thursday, all the rooms had been cleaned. Luckily Gerd and Irene had booked me in some cases to see, otherwise I might actually have been at something of a loss for what to do.

One of the cases was desperately sad. A cat had been attacked by a dog and its injuries were serious enough that it had to be put to sleep. There was a little girl there. It is so difficult watching a child having to say goodbye to a loved pet. At the other end of the spectrum, Magne and I performed surgery on a lovely Cavalier King Charles spaniel for pyometra (infection in the uterus). Without our intervention, she would very likely have died. It was a pleasuritself to operate with Magne. This is the second time we have worked together on an uncomplicated pyometra and everything just clicked into place both times. It’s a delicate operation that requires nimble fingers and great care and the process itself was intensely satisfying, but the end result, when the dog comes round safely and greets its owner is the best feeling there is.

Due to the efficiency drive I mentioned above, I did have time to pop in and out of the dental room where Wivek and then Jan-Arne were working. Wivek was enormously helpful with the injured cat and so I was keen to do all I could to help her in return. Obviously she is much better than me at the actual work, but I was able to fetch things that she wanted. Jan-Arne was on good form as usual, telling me how simple Norwegian was. After all, he explained, there were very few words and some of them sounded exactly the same as each other. Prayers, beans and farmers are all pronounced in the same way, he said. At this point, he was about to set to with the ultrasonic descaler. His foot, he thought was not quite on the floor-pedal that operates it and so he reached out with his toe to pull it towards him. It was only when the instrument sent a jet of water right into my mouth that he realised that actually his foot had been on it the whole time. At least that was his excuse anyway. Personally I think it’s odd that that jet was pointed so accurately at my face. If I now come down with some awful cat-tooth disease, I know who is to blame.

The Dechra rep I mentioned at the beginning turned up late. He was meant to arrive at two thirty with lunch and so by two thirty five, everyone in the clinic was sitting in the staff room with bright expectant faces. For some reason, he had called into the clinic in the morning with boxes of sweets for everyone and as the clock ticked onwards, it seemed more and more likely that we were actually going to lunch on forty eight chocolate hearts and seven slightly-worse-for-wear grapes that someone had found lurking at the back of the fridge. However, at three pm, he finally arrived clutching a bag of seven enormous sandwiches to be split between the eight of us who were present. Looking around the table for someone to deal with this delicate situation, Gerd, officially recognising my superior surgical skills asked me if I could dissect each baguette into two. Sadly nobody had thought to tell the rep that Jacqueline was vegetarian and so she was left removing pieces of chicken to leave her with a lettuce and dressing salad. Hungry as ever, Jan-Arne demanded that she hand over the meat. Oddly though, when we later offered him the massed bits of cucumber, mayonnaise and chicken that had fallen from Ena’s sandwich and the slice of lemon that I had removed from mine, he seemed strangely to have lost his appetite.

The afternoon ended with Jaqueline delightedly swapping her Toffifee pack for a box of Sara’s chocolate hearts. Rarely have I seen such a pleased look on her face. Magne had to make do with the enormous pile of leaflets and pamphlets that the Dechra rep had left. For some reason, when I suggested he could take them home for a bit of light holiday reading, he seemed less enthusiastic. Anyone watching might easily have been fooled into thinking that really we clinic staff were actually more interested in the food than in the important information about what drugs the man was trying to sell. As if we were both hungry AND shallow people. Obviously though, as all of you kind people that read my blog know only too well, that could never be the case. Thanks for reading.

Today’s photo is Billy, who was in to see Wivek for some blood tests.