Tuesday is the new weekend

I have done nothing since returning from family taxi duty except work, although I am trying to fit in a little walking every day. I had an appointment with the nurse one day, a delightful trip to the vegetable shop, a walk out along the river and back along the canal with Mr A when the weather was lovely, and the car had to go to have its headlight fixed today, so I walked home after dropping it off and then out again to pick it up. Horrid VW, they charge so much for parts, and don't sell the lens that's actually broken, it has to be the whole headlamp unit. And the garage stung me for an extra £12 for bulbs which they said they couldn't get out of the old unit. It leaves a bad taste in the mouth, I have to say.

Today I think I have finished Mr Samuels, who is an old git with heart problems, central obesity and probably type 2 diabetes. Spending four days on this bit of coursework brings with it an unhealthy loathing for the patient in question, especially since he is imaginary, so he won't answer any questions. But I think he's done now. Time to get on to the next assignment.

Except that I've decided to make Tuesday my new weekend. It isn't a great idea to work six days per week, but it's got to be done for the next six weeks. If I'm going to have a day off I might as well make it when nobody else does, so it will be quiet if I go out somewhere nice. It's also a Tuesday so that I can have a lie in after badminton on Monday night without feeling guilty.

There's really nothing else to report, and most likely nothing much happening until June. Mr A and I are planning a short break in Bruges when the exams are over, but that seems impossibly far off from my position at the desk today. In a couple of years' time, when I don't have exams in May, I'll be able to enjoy the spring weather outside, and the glorious yellow of our forsythia, which is blooming unnoticed in the garden.