No Rest For The Wicked
Yesterday it occurred to me that it had been a fair while since I had bothered to exercise my typing fingers and add anything new to this pointless blog of mine. So, seeing as I am currently incarcerated in Hell's Hospital for the night, looking after the Gomers and Gomeres of Lower Londinivm, I thought I might spare a few minutes to clog up the internet a bit more with some random scribblings.
As evidenced by the previous posts, I had recently been wading through the quagmire of tedium and misery that is the membership exam for the Royal College of Physicians. The exam is a bitch and my preparation was, alas, not as thorough as it might have been. I had not expected to pass. And yet it seems I have; or at least that's what MRCPUK.org's internet result page says. Still, despite having rechecked most days since it was first published on Monday of last week, I cannot shake off the idea that when the paper results slip finally arrives in the post, I will find out that there has been some sort of terrible mix-up in the uploading of the computer results and I have, in fact, failed miserably. Though the rational part of me thinks this unlikely, the more significant irrational part of my personality has printed out the computer results page as evidence for when I am forced to sue the bastards for the emotional distress of having to tell everybody that it was all just a big balls-up and I actually failed.
Nonetheless, all that doubt and anxiety over whether I can yet put the letters MRCP after my name cannot really dampen the excitement generated by my approaching holidays. One whole month off work to do with as I please: to laze in bed; to drink on school nights; to fly far, far away. As it is, it looks to be a fairly busy one. After a week's R&R, I'm off to New York with my dearly beloved to see a city that I've always imagined as the only other place I'd live if not in London. Quite frankly, I can't wait till the plane takes off. Once back, I'll have a day or two before I climb aboard the train to Wonderland, whence the manger of my birth and bosom of my family await. Then I've made the courageous and extraordinary decision to abandon London for the New Year and hop on a plane over to the benighted backwater of Brittany to spend it with the Frenchman and his kin. Goodness knows what it'll be like, but after 9 years celebrating the New Year rat-arsed in some sweaty, dark hole of a club in the Big Smoke, I suppose it might be nice to do something a little different for a change. Finally, I head back to Paris for a slightly terrifying party where I am expected to meet and charm the entirety of my boyfriend's ridiculously large, French-speaking, French-being family: that's to say his parents (all four of them!), brothers, sisters, aunties,
uncles, cousins, grandparents and assorted family friends! I have enquired as to whether it might not be possible to opt instead for the considerably less scary-sounding, mediaeval 'trial by fire' to assess if I'm good enough boyfriend material for their darling son, but have been told that, sadly, that is not an option. Thankfully, though, it is at least a party so I can just get horrendously drunk, which, as we all know, is always guaranteed to bring out the best in anybody.
At least one thing is certain: I will undoubtedly be more in need of a holiday by the end of this holiday than I was before I even started it.
As evidenced by the previous posts, I had recently been wading through the quagmire of tedium and misery that is the membership exam for the Royal College of Physicians. The exam is a bitch and my preparation was, alas, not as thorough as it might have been. I had not expected to pass. And yet it seems I have; or at least that's what MRCPUK.org's internet result page says. Still, despite having rechecked most days since it was first published on Monday of last week, I cannot shake off the idea that when the paper results slip finally arrives in the post, I will find out that there has been some sort of terrible mix-up in the uploading of the computer results and I have, in fact, failed miserably. Though the rational part of me thinks this unlikely, the more significant irrational part of my personality has printed out the computer results page as evidence for when I am forced to sue the bastards for the emotional distress of having to tell everybody that it was all just a big balls-up and I actually failed.
Nonetheless, all that doubt and anxiety over whether I can yet put the letters MRCP after my name cannot really dampen the excitement generated by my approaching holidays. One whole month off work to do with as I please: to laze in bed; to drink on school nights; to fly far, far away. As it is, it looks to be a fairly busy one. After a week's R&R, I'm off to New York with my dearly beloved to see a city that I've always imagined as the only other place I'd live if not in London. Quite frankly, I can't wait till the plane takes off. Once back, I'll have a day or two before I climb aboard the train to Wonderland, whence the manger of my birth and bosom of my family await. Then I've made the courageous and extraordinary decision to abandon London for the New Year and hop on a plane over to the benighted backwater of Brittany to spend it with the Frenchman and his kin. Goodness knows what it'll be like, but after 9 years celebrating the New Year rat-arsed in some sweaty, dark hole of a club in the Big Smoke, I suppose it might be nice to do something a little different for a change. Finally, I head back to Paris for a slightly terrifying party where I am expected to meet and charm the entirety of my boyfriend's ridiculously large, French-speaking, French-being family: that's to say his parents (all four of them!), brothers, sisters, aunties,
uncles, cousins, grandparents and assorted family friends! I have enquired as to whether it might not be possible to opt instead for the considerably less scary-sounding, mediaeval 'trial by fire' to assess if I'm good enough boyfriend material for their darling son, but have been told that, sadly, that is not an option. Thankfully, though, it is at least a party so I can just get horrendously drunk, which, as we all know, is always guaranteed to bring out the best in anybody.At least one thing is certain: I will undoubtedly be more in need of a holiday by the end of this holiday than I was before I even started it.
posted by The Venial Sinner at 8:35 pm
6 Comments:
You should have brought out "trial by cauldron" as the bargaining chip. I'm sure you could pull a piece of red-hot metal out of a boiling cauldron with your bare hands without burning yourself... :-)
Seriously, though, have a great bit of time off - I'm envious in a weird way (I long for down time but know that I'd be bored out of my mind if I took it). And enjoy Paris.
Yes, lucky you going to Paris and New York AND passing your exams.
I did exactly the same thing in printing out the screen confirmation, and for exactly the same reasons.
Have a decadent time, and good to hear from you again.
Thank you all.
Incredibly the paper confirmation slip has still not arrived just under 2 weeks later. How long can it take to put something in the post!
Kate - Being off doesn't necessarily mean you do nothing, just that you can do it at your own pace. I love my time off so much. It's what keeps me going during the in-between times of slog and toil.
VsD,
We're all GOMERS in waiting, are we not ?
Well done with the "F-Crap"as we refer to it in Oz. Your goal now is to forget 95% of all you ever learned.
Salut
Dork
This made me laugh! I went through exactly the same thing when I checked my PACES result. Thankfully the letter arrived on Friday so I don't need to go in to work tomorrow to tell them that it was all a hideous mistake! Congratulations! Enjoy the holiday!
Lordy, please don't say that, Dr Dork. I don't want to be a Gomer and I certainly don't want to be a hospitalised Gomer. Maybe something vital will pop suddenly and unexpectedly in my brain just before I enter Gomerhood and spare me its miseries.
Thank you, Keziah, my cinnamony friend. And if I read correctly between the lines, congratulations on your own success. I had a little peak at your blog though, I'm a little surprised to find you hanging around the blog of this most venial of sinners.
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