There we were overlooking Scarborough at 3.30am. Spud and me. Wondering what to do next. We were 17 and the world was about to be our oyster. It was the day of our 'A' level results.
Last Wednesday I had been invited to speak to a pharmaceutical company and their 'advisory Board'. An expenses paid trip to London to tell them how I manage angina, so that they can work out how to position their new drug. I get asked to these things now and they are a moderate source of income. I don't know what the going rate is, but I thought 500 was OK.
Two weeks earlier I had got a surprise when, who should appear on facebook, but me old mate Spud. He had responded to me posting my frustration and disappointment with the outcome of the election. Not that I can be critical of anyone else. I voted LibDem and got ConDem(ed). Never again. Still with any luck they will crash and burn between them, hopefully without causing too much damage to the rest of us. Mea Culpa. Anyway Spud, through face book, said he agree. No one else commented.
I hadn't seen Spud since the first few weeks of University. We both came to Manchester and, at the time, almost inseparable. Once at uni we went our separate ways, until one day I discovered that he had dropped out. That was the last I heard of him. Until a couple of weeks ago. Oh sure, there were rumours that he was working at Heathrow as a baggage handler, but nothing concrete and no way of confirming it. It turned out, from facebook that he was alive and well and living in London.
Facebook is a wonderful medium I think, despite it's problems with security. So we began to exchange messages, feeling our way about whether to meet up again.
Dave Goodridge 18 May at 19:44 Hi Ivan
Sorry for not replying earlier, I'm communicationally challenged [strange for a so called professional communicator]. I'm OK still seventeen, although appearance now belies that fact. I'm now living in a flat (should I say apartment) in Ruislip, a quiet NW London suburb (well it was!) since my strange wife kicked me out of the family abode five years ago.
Oddly enough after years of bashing me banjo I'm now a civil servant (only middle ranking - not one of yer mandolins you understand). I work on International Trade Policy in Dept of Business and DFID - a vague area for a vague person I hear you chortle, still it's a living, just!
Strange times wot wiv the election, at least we have a Lib dem Secretary of State [call me Vince] and a Lib dem Minister [call me Ed], could have been worse, much worse.
I 'became' a Christian few years back, full immersion etc like your mob but I'm not very good at it! You know me.
A quick plug they're broadcasting our morning service on Radio 4 on 30th May - listen out for how not to play guitar in a worship band.
This is probably a bit long for social networking but you can email me on davejgoodridge@tiscali.co.uk
all the best doc. .
Ivan Benett 18 May at 23:30 What do you mean 'my mob'??? great to hear from you old chum. I'm down in London on Tuesday night if you're about. Probably staying around Victoria station in a hotel. I'm pleased you are still trying to perfect your riffs and entertaining the troops. Glad also you're still 17...me too. Two ex wives and four kids to prove it.
My mum is staying with me for a couple of days, She says Hi .
Dave Goodridge 18 May at 23:45 I recall in my ever misty memory that your family were of the Baptist persuasion. Do you mean next Tuesday? We could meet up as I work in Victoria literally 5 mins from the station. .
Ivan Benett 19 May at 22:56 Ey lad, next Tuesday night. I hope you haven't lost your Yorkshire accent. Remember Masham police cells?? Anyway it would be great to see you on Tuesday evening. I'm staying, hopefully, at the hotel in Victoria but yet to confirm, and attending a meeting on the Wednesday.
My phone number is 07900357867. Send me yours and I can let you know exactly .
Dave Goodridge 19 May at 23:42 Accent still intact even after 18 years in this beer desert and 15 years wandering before that. Never forget Malton, it makes a good tale for the kids, they think they're the dogs - little do they know! If you're stuck for a place you can rough it at my hovel [not that rough I have a bed settee and lots of toys], it's about an hour out of town but you'd have the advantage of being guided by a professional commuter. Be great to meet up on Tuesday whatever, my number is 07751234567
cu anon
And so we met up last Tuesday evening and remembered our trip to Scarborough that fateful night.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Sunday, 18 April 2010
How things have changed
Manchester City 0 Manchester United 1, Tottenham Hotspurs 2 Chelsea 1, what a good day of football! Those poor City fans should know better than to raise their hopes, but they did. They really thought they could do it, which is what makes it all the more sweet for us and sour for them.
This week has seen the start of the election campaign, and it took off with the leaders debate. Everyone, including me, thought Nick Clegg stole the show. I even said I would vote Lib Dem. I'd certainly consider it more now. A poll today puts them on 29% of something, and the other two only just ahead. I do believe they have the most progressive policies, Labour need a spell in opposition, and the Tories remain odious. Nobody really likes either of the old parties. I could be a very unusual election, for sure.
The other big news is the 'cloud' of volcanic ash. No one can actually see it from down here, but it has put a stop to all flights in or out of UK airspace, which means Emily is stranded here. Mum and dad too can't fly off to the Gambia, and we have had to forgo our Jersey trip. It's lovely to see more of Emily.
This week has seen the start of the election campaign, and it took off with the leaders debate. Everyone, including me, thought Nick Clegg stole the show. I even said I would vote Lib Dem. I'd certainly consider it more now. A poll today puts them on 29% of something, and the other two only just ahead. I do believe they have the most progressive policies, Labour need a spell in opposition, and the Tories remain odious. Nobody really likes either of the old parties. I could be a very unusual election, for sure.
The other big news is the 'cloud' of volcanic ash. No one can actually see it from down here, but it has put a stop to all flights in or out of UK airspace, which means Emily is stranded here. Mum and dad too can't fly off to the Gambia, and we have had to forgo our Jersey trip. It's lovely to see more of Emily.
Sunday, 11 April 2010
Hell's mouth
I've just had a wonderful weekend in North Wales. The gorse was out and so was the sun. The coast near Abersoc is fabulous and a walk along the coastal path is breathtaking. This part of the UK is so underrated and not as tacky as I had previously thought. This bit certainly isn't.
Sarah's parents house over looks a beautiful bay. The morning sun streams through the windows and breakfast outside is brilliant. It's going to be one of those days. Those unexpected days. Days you remember all your life.
We set off to walk a little bit of the coastal path and five hours later return, a little bit sun burnt, tired, and very contented. I love Wales. The walk had started at a beach called Hell's mouth. It's a surfers beach, but there is no surfing today. The sea is calm. There's a light breeze, and off we go. Sure we got lost, and the map wasn't helpful, but we did get back. Our legs are aching and our faces glowing.
We had arrived yesterday early afternoon. We stopped off to pick up some food, a baguette, some ham and tomatoes. When we got to the house we had lunch. I think I have found my perfect baguette.
Sarah's parents house over looks a beautiful bay. The morning sun streams through the windows and breakfast outside is brilliant. It's going to be one of those days. Those unexpected days. Days you remember all your life.
We set off to walk a little bit of the coastal path and five hours later return, a little bit sun burnt, tired, and very contented. I love Wales. The walk had started at a beach called Hell's mouth. It's a surfers beach, but there is no surfing today. The sea is calm. There's a light breeze, and off we go. Sure we got lost, and the map wasn't helpful, but we did get back. Our legs are aching and our faces glowing.
We had arrived yesterday early afternoon. We stopped off to pick up some food, a baguette, some ham and tomatoes. When we got to the house we had lunch. I think I have found my perfect baguette.
Monday, 5 April 2010
Easter 2010
Spring is a time for new beginnings, and Easter a very sharp reminder of the cost of new beginnings. Things will never be the same. Loss is always painful. This Easter will always live in our memories. This is not a time for amusing anecdotes. It is a time of uncertainty, hope and prayer. It is a time of helplessness, and a time of trust that whoever decides these things knows what He is doing.
Monday, 29 March 2010
The bird and the B
Now it is rare for two wonderful things to happen in one week. Last week was one of those weeks.
Last Monday I kissed Sarah goodbye and had an early night. Up with the lark, to Stockport railway station to catch the 7.24 to London. Time for a nice cup of coffee and before long you're in Euston. Except not today. Today Milton Keynes decides to blow a fuse. The signals have broken down. There will be no trains running along the west coast line. To get to London we have to catch the train to Sheffield (for goodness sake) then on to London.
Sarah is wonderful. We met a few weeks ago to discuss how the Primary Care Trust should prepare for the role out of a new drug for heart conditions. She is the pharmaceutical adviser, is beautiful and intelligent, and until recently, single.
7.30 on Stockport station is a pretty dismal place. One option is to go home, of course, but the Cardiac Network has already invested a lot in my train ticket, so I'm going to have to go for it. Besides they've sent a poster of the Heart Failure project I've been leading. We're going to the National Heart Improvement Conference 2010, and it's a sort of celebration of the ten years since the publication of the Cardiac National Service Framework. Everyone will be there including the Cardiac Czar and all the Who's who of the Heart world.
I'm sooo tired but eventually we get to London. Taxi to the hotel and then dinner. There are several from the Greater Manchester network, and luckily they've brought three of their patient representatives. These 'reps' have been down rather longer than the rest of us. They came down the night before, so by the time we meet up for dinner they are in good cheer. One of them is aware of my recent run-in with a local teaching hospital over stroke services, and so I am warmly greeted. Suddenly I notice that the three of them and me are the only men there. We need two taxis to get to the restaurant. The ladies get in the first one and the men follow in a second taxi. They are pretty well informed and we agree, in the safety of an anonymous cab, that arrangement of Cardiac services in Manchester is a complete mess. Really there should be one great big Centre instead of two squabbling ones. Dinner is Mexican, chili con carne and plenty of San Miguel. A whisky night cap with my new friends is inescapable, and then to bed. The 'reps' continue their networking.
Wednesday is the day of the conference. There must be five hundred people there or more. Two key note speeches by the NHS elite, including Roger B himself, then a break. In the coffee area are the posters. I decide I'd better have a look at them and find ours.
There, to my surprise and delight is a beaming picture of me. Along side me is an explanation of the project and two graphs showing the brilliant, if statistically not yet significant, outcome so far. 'Hi, Ivan' shouts over a man I barely recognise. Oh yes, he's the doctor from Hastings that sort of co-ordinated the Heart Failure projects. He comes over. 'Thought I'd let you know. I'm using you're slide in my talk later'. 'Er great, great thanks' I reply. 'Thanks, that'll be err great'. Several other people congratulate me on the poster, and some wonder if the picture has been airbrushed. Well no, but it was taken five years ago and I've had major facial surgery since then after my ski accident.
Back to the conference and my man from Hastings is giving his talk. He's presenting a flavour of the different heart failure project over the last ten years. Yes, and there is my slide, well our slide. How cool is that? A mention at a National meeting. Brilliant. I don't really hear much of the rest of the talk as so chuffed with the mention.
At the end there's a prize to be handed out to the best projects, then lunch. I am getting a bit hungry actually. Roger B is on the stand and Mark D is reading out the winners name. 'For the category of best contribution to a quality service' says Mark. It's like the flaming Oscars. Come on. Get it over with.
'The winner is' pause 'Central Manchester blur blur'. 'What did he say' I turn to the person next to me. 'Is anyone here from Central Manchester?' Oh my goodness, he called my project. Did he? Yes he did. Oh my goodness. I stand up and run towards the stage. I do a fake trip for a laugh, but no laughs. Never mind. I reach the podium. Roger B hands me the winning certificate. 'Well done, good work' he says. I make to go for the microphone, but a speech is not required. Instead I lift the certificate aloft. A loud round of applause and cheers, and I head back to my seat. During my run to the stage I dropped my phone and briefly loose it, but I don't care. I am on top of the world and can hardly believe it. This is the pinacle of my career so far.
After, I get lots of congratulations. 'You've been hiding talent under a bush' says one. 'Well no not really'. 'I didn't have you down as a Heart Failure person' says another. 'Well I'm not really, I'm a GP'. Still I feel great and continue to feel great so some considerable time. Nothing can top this, or can it?
Well yes it can, and it did. And all in one week. Sarah and me are now 'in a relationship' on facebook. I should have bought a lottery ticket.
Last Monday I kissed Sarah goodbye and had an early night. Up with the lark, to Stockport railway station to catch the 7.24 to London. Time for a nice cup of coffee and before long you're in Euston. Except not today. Today Milton Keynes decides to blow a fuse. The signals have broken down. There will be no trains running along the west coast line. To get to London we have to catch the train to Sheffield (for goodness sake) then on to London.
Sarah is wonderful. We met a few weeks ago to discuss how the Primary Care Trust should prepare for the role out of a new drug for heart conditions. She is the pharmaceutical adviser, is beautiful and intelligent, and until recently, single.
7.30 on Stockport station is a pretty dismal place. One option is to go home, of course, but the Cardiac Network has already invested a lot in my train ticket, so I'm going to have to go for it. Besides they've sent a poster of the Heart Failure project I've been leading. We're going to the National Heart Improvement Conference 2010, and it's a sort of celebration of the ten years since the publication of the Cardiac National Service Framework. Everyone will be there including the Cardiac Czar and all the Who's who of the Heart world.
I'm sooo tired but eventually we get to London. Taxi to the hotel and then dinner. There are several from the Greater Manchester network, and luckily they've brought three of their patient representatives. These 'reps' have been down rather longer than the rest of us. They came down the night before, so by the time we meet up for dinner they are in good cheer. One of them is aware of my recent run-in with a local teaching hospital over stroke services, and so I am warmly greeted. Suddenly I notice that the three of them and me are the only men there. We need two taxis to get to the restaurant. The ladies get in the first one and the men follow in a second taxi. They are pretty well informed and we agree, in the safety of an anonymous cab, that arrangement of Cardiac services in Manchester is a complete mess. Really there should be one great big Centre instead of two squabbling ones. Dinner is Mexican, chili con carne and plenty of San Miguel. A whisky night cap with my new friends is inescapable, and then to bed. The 'reps' continue their networking.
Wednesday is the day of the conference. There must be five hundred people there or more. Two key note speeches by the NHS elite, including Roger B himself, then a break. In the coffee area are the posters. I decide I'd better have a look at them and find ours.
There, to my surprise and delight is a beaming picture of me. Along side me is an explanation of the project and two graphs showing the brilliant, if statistically not yet significant, outcome so far. 'Hi, Ivan' shouts over a man I barely recognise. Oh yes, he's the doctor from Hastings that sort of co-ordinated the Heart Failure projects. He comes over. 'Thought I'd let you know. I'm using you're slide in my talk later'. 'Er great, great thanks' I reply. 'Thanks, that'll be err great'. Several other people congratulate me on the poster, and some wonder if the picture has been airbrushed. Well no, but it was taken five years ago and I've had major facial surgery since then after my ski accident.
Back to the conference and my man from Hastings is giving his talk. He's presenting a flavour of the different heart failure project over the last ten years. Yes, and there is my slide, well our slide. How cool is that? A mention at a National meeting. Brilliant. I don't really hear much of the rest of the talk as so chuffed with the mention.
At the end there's a prize to be handed out to the best projects, then lunch. I am getting a bit hungry actually. Roger B is on the stand and Mark D is reading out the winners name. 'For the category of best contribution to a quality service' says Mark. It's like the flaming Oscars. Come on. Get it over with.
'The winner is' pause 'Central Manchester blur blur'. 'What did he say' I turn to the person next to me. 'Is anyone here from Central Manchester?' Oh my goodness, he called my project. Did he? Yes he did. Oh my goodness. I stand up and run towards the stage. I do a fake trip for a laugh, but no laughs. Never mind. I reach the podium. Roger B hands me the winning certificate. 'Well done, good work' he says. I make to go for the microphone, but a speech is not required. Instead I lift the certificate aloft. A loud round of applause and cheers, and I head back to my seat. During my run to the stage I dropped my phone and briefly loose it, but I don't care. I am on top of the world and can hardly believe it. This is the pinacle of my career so far.
After, I get lots of congratulations. 'You've been hiding talent under a bush' says one. 'Well no not really'. 'I didn't have you down as a Heart Failure person' says another. 'Well I'm not really, I'm a GP'. Still I feel great and continue to feel great so some considerable time. Nothing can top this, or can it?
Well yes it can, and it did. And all in one week. Sarah and me are now 'in a relationship' on facebook. I should have bought a lottery ticket.
Saturday, 20 March 2010
Mr Crystal and the Austrian Dungeon
The light shone right in my eyes when it suddenly came on, like the dazzle of headlights on a night time country lane.
'Here, put these on' she said, and handed me a pair of unfashionable sun glasses. 'Now sit back and relax' said the efficient, matter-of-fact man. It was my dentist, Mr Crystal. I trust him and he has always been very reliable. He has pictures of his family and Manchester United in his office, and plays music while he works on my teeth. My thoughts start to drift as I sit back and relax. The Americans call their surgeries their office, and to be fair my 'surgery' looks more like an office than a surgery, so I'm going to call mine an office from now on.
Something slips under my top lip on the right and he turns away. I'm not yet sure what he's going to do today. One of my fillings had fallen out a few weeks ago, a temporary filling had also fallen out and I was expecting another temporary filling, but really I hadn't thought it through. 'It tastes like chewing gum' I say. 'It's bubble gum flavoured surface anaesthetic' he replies, while fiddling with something just out of my eye line. It's difficult to be witty with your dentists isn't it? The situation just isn't set up for it. But I feel like I need something to lighten the occasion, for the word anaesthetic can only mean one thing. An injection. An injection and lots of drilling and things. Nothing funny comes to mind anyway, just a flash back to the Austrian cellar when last I had needles and drills and wires. Then I remember and smile.
'So relax, just a little prick' I smile and recognise his joke. I try to relax. In the dentists chair is rather like being in one of those spy movies when the hero is drugged and is being interrogated. Things are happening off camera and voices and noises just add to the sense of fear, uncertainty and surrealism.
'Before you go home you must have your hev you jaw stabilized' the Austrian faxmax surgeon had said on the morning when my ambulance was due to pick me up. My mind had gone back to when I had my skiing accident about two years ago. I had been laid up in an Innsbruck University Institute for facio-maxillary surgery for 11 days following my skiing accident and it was nearly time to go home. I had survived on a diet of soup and mash potato. Actually the mash potato was a luxury I'd only managed in the last two days. This was the ward of mashed up faces, and mine was one of them.
Eventually a rather overly happy-go-lucky person arrived on the ward with a trolley. 'Benett?' he said, 'you will come wiz me'. He was evidently proud of his English. I got on the trolley. 'Ve must go down stairz in ze lift'. My ward was on the fourth floor. We descend six floors and appear in a dark corridor. My companion presses a switch and the set lights up. In my mind I can hear the sort of film music that says 'something bad is going to happen'. I'm pushed into a small room and the door closes behind me. 'You vill vait here'.
I am in a mini operating theatre. There a sink, draws and cupboards, and instruments on a trolley. It is quiet, eerily quiet.
Suddenly from behind me there is a clang of activity and someone walks in. It is a middle grade faxmax person I guess. He presents himself to me, stands straight, almost clicking his heels. He explains in accented English what the purpose of the meeting is. Basically he wants to wire my jaw so that elastic bands can be attached to stop my jaw wobbling on the journey back. Oh joy. He turns away to put on a gown and mask while muttering in German to an attractive person in a nurses uniform. 'Is that a whip she's carrying?' No can't be. He puts his gloves on with his back towards me, then turns with his hands up. The operating theatre light is behind him making his shape into a silhouette and I swear the music of psycho strikes up.
'You hef hed injections before, ya?'. 'I guess' and nod meekly. 'Ve need to give you just four'. Four! That bloody woman that skied into me, I'll kill her.
My interrogator is clearly proud of his English. As he cheerfully administers the anaesthetic he tells me how much he likes England and how often he goes and of course, noticing I'm from Manchester, how impressed he is with the efficiency of Man U. There is little chance for me to engage in a conversation since my mouth is stretched open for most of the time. I make do with nodding occasionally, trying to think of other things and wondering when the wiring is going to start, and actually what the wiring actually means, actually. I have to remember to relax my muscles. I'm sweating under my arms and myheart is racing.
Then he gets some pliers and a length of wire. The psycho music starts up again. He turns to me again. The light at his back. His be-gowned and masked face a dark shadow, pliers and wire glistening. The shape advances towards me, clasping the pliers and pointing them at me. He leans over my helpless body. I can't move my arms. They feel as though they're strapped to the chair. I try to move away. Oh my God, I'm paralysed. The music reaches a crescendo.
And stops abruptly.
'You like Iron Maiden? I often go to England to see zem. It rreely rrocks dozn it?'....
Did I say surreal?
Since then I've never been scared of injections or the Dentist
'Here, put these on' she said, and handed me a pair of unfashionable sun glasses. 'Now sit back and relax' said the efficient, matter-of-fact man. It was my dentist, Mr Crystal. I trust him and he has always been very reliable. He has pictures of his family and Manchester United in his office, and plays music while he works on my teeth. My thoughts start to drift as I sit back and relax. The Americans call their surgeries their office, and to be fair my 'surgery' looks more like an office than a surgery, so I'm going to call mine an office from now on.
Something slips under my top lip on the right and he turns away. I'm not yet sure what he's going to do today. One of my fillings had fallen out a few weeks ago, a temporary filling had also fallen out and I was expecting another temporary filling, but really I hadn't thought it through. 'It tastes like chewing gum' I say. 'It's bubble gum flavoured surface anaesthetic' he replies, while fiddling with something just out of my eye line. It's difficult to be witty with your dentists isn't it? The situation just isn't set up for it. But I feel like I need something to lighten the occasion, for the word anaesthetic can only mean one thing. An injection. An injection and lots of drilling and things. Nothing funny comes to mind anyway, just a flash back to the Austrian cellar when last I had needles and drills and wires. Then I remember and smile.
'So relax, just a little prick' I smile and recognise his joke. I try to relax. In the dentists chair is rather like being in one of those spy movies when the hero is drugged and is being interrogated. Things are happening off camera and voices and noises just add to the sense of fear, uncertainty and surrealism.
'Before you go home you must have your hev you jaw stabilized' the Austrian faxmax surgeon had said on the morning when my ambulance was due to pick me up. My mind had gone back to when I had my skiing accident about two years ago. I had been laid up in an Innsbruck University Institute for facio-maxillary surgery for 11 days following my skiing accident and it was nearly time to go home. I had survived on a diet of soup and mash potato. Actually the mash potato was a luxury I'd only managed in the last two days. This was the ward of mashed up faces, and mine was one of them.
Eventually a rather overly happy-go-lucky person arrived on the ward with a trolley. 'Benett?' he said, 'you will come wiz me'. He was evidently proud of his English. I got on the trolley. 'Ve must go down stairz in ze lift'. My ward was on the fourth floor. We descend six floors and appear in a dark corridor. My companion presses a switch and the set lights up. In my mind I can hear the sort of film music that says 'something bad is going to happen'. I'm pushed into a small room and the door closes behind me. 'You vill vait here'.
I am in a mini operating theatre. There a sink, draws and cupboards, and instruments on a trolley. It is quiet, eerily quiet.
Suddenly from behind me there is a clang of activity and someone walks in. It is a middle grade faxmax person I guess. He presents himself to me, stands straight, almost clicking his heels. He explains in accented English what the purpose of the meeting is. Basically he wants to wire my jaw so that elastic bands can be attached to stop my jaw wobbling on the journey back. Oh joy. He turns away to put on a gown and mask while muttering in German to an attractive person in a nurses uniform. 'Is that a whip she's carrying?' No can't be. He puts his gloves on with his back towards me, then turns with his hands up. The operating theatre light is behind him making his shape into a silhouette and I swear the music of psycho strikes up.
'You hef hed injections before, ya?'. 'I guess' and nod meekly. 'Ve need to give you just four'. Four! That bloody woman that skied into me, I'll kill her.
My interrogator is clearly proud of his English. As he cheerfully administers the anaesthetic he tells me how much he likes England and how often he goes and of course, noticing I'm from Manchester, how impressed he is with the efficiency of Man U. There is little chance for me to engage in a conversation since my mouth is stretched open for most of the time. I make do with nodding occasionally, trying to think of other things and wondering when the wiring is going to start, and actually what the wiring actually means, actually. I have to remember to relax my muscles. I'm sweating under my arms and myheart is racing.
Then he gets some pliers and a length of wire. The psycho music starts up again. He turns to me again. The light at his back. His be-gowned and masked face a dark shadow, pliers and wire glistening. The shape advances towards me, clasping the pliers and pointing them at me. He leans over my helpless body. I can't move my arms. They feel as though they're strapped to the chair. I try to move away. Oh my God, I'm paralysed. The music reaches a crescendo.
And stops abruptly.
'You like Iron Maiden? I often go to England to see zem. It rreely rrocks dozn it?'....
Did I say surreal?
Since then I've never been scared of injections or the Dentist
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Atlanta Georgia
It's Mother's Day here in Atlanta, and everywhere else, but I'm in Atlanta. I'm in Atlanta and my phone doesn't work. So I'm hoping my mum has a look at her e-mails rather than think I'm a useless son. I'm in a room of the thirty five floored Omni hotel. It is a spacious bright room with a large double bed, en suite bathroom, and Internet access. Through my window in the CNN centre, yes Atlanta is the home of world wide news. When you turn on your TV anywhere in the world it will be being beamed from just over the road from where I am right now. Also staring at me from huge bill-boards are the white teethed anchor men and women of CNN news. As my friend and colleague Kathryn said, you almost see the little ping of sunlight glinting off one of those shinny incisors.
Sure we went for a meal last night, sponsired by our sponsor. Non-promotional, you understand. As the rest of the known cardiology world is here it would be rude not to network.
At our table was Mr heart failure and with his was Mr heart failure USA. Well heart imaging in heart failure. Well imaging the left ventricle in heart failure. Actually, for such an eminent guy he was pretty cool. For instance, he new that soccer was really called football, how cool is that? No eally he was self debricating enough to be likeable, which is more than you can say for my British colleague.
The clocks also went forward, which has completely confused all of us from Britain. It could be anytime within a two hour spectrum. Anyway, who cares what the time is. Well actually, at a congress it's quite important or you end up missing things.
I think I already missed Mother's Day, so what could be worse?
Sure we went for a meal last night, sponsired by our sponsor. Non-promotional, you understand. As the rest of the known cardiology world is here it would be rude not to network.
At our table was Mr heart failure and with his was Mr heart failure USA. Well heart imaging in heart failure. Well imaging the left ventricle in heart failure. Actually, for such an eminent guy he was pretty cool. For instance, he new that soccer was really called football, how cool is that? No eally he was self debricating enough to be likeable, which is more than you can say for my British colleague.
The clocks also went forward, which has completely confused all of us from Britain. It could be anytime within a two hour spectrum. Anyway, who cares what the time is. Well actually, at a congress it's quite important or you end up missing things.
I think I already missed Mother's Day, so what could be worse?
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