Whilst I appreciate the rich variety of people that I am privileged enough to encounter courtesy of the NHS, I really wish you could wing it so there are slightly more sane people in my vicinity, rather than the collection of prehistoric flubber that has currently taken to lurking outside my bedroom door swearing at their velour clad offspring.
We have a plan (I have an overwhelming urge to say Batman after that, but have resisted the temptation in order to maintain at least a visage of sanity at this juncture of our incarceration). To catch you up since our last entry we have excelled at defining the 'quo' in status. We have tried
there will be some respite this coming week from OPC (Other People’s Children). For people who haven’t encountered OPC in a hospital, imagine the most precocious, insistent, nosey, slightly unwashed looking, is there something crawling in their hair kind of child who has a habit of grabbing whatever your child’s favourite toy is and skipping merrily out of the room with a sweet smile on their face. Of course, selfishly the OPC serves a great purpose when your other children are around as it’s an instant friend for them to disappear into the playroom with. However the OPC doesn’t limit their presence to convenient hours in which your children are present and wanting to be amused, they want to be your best friend too. The OPC thinks you want nothing more than their company, even if your door is shut and you’ve wedged a chair behind it.