The end of the beginning

Today is when I start my first job as a fully fledged qualified Registered Dietitian.

I started this blog nearly five years ago, when I left my last proper job, mainly to satisfy my enjoyment of writing. I also thought that there might be interesting things to report about academia and the undergraduate study of dietetics. I had no idea how long it would last, and whether I would continue to enjoy writing, or how much it would be appreciated by those people who matter to me.

Along the way I have been surprised when people have told me that they read and enjoy what I write, and some have contributed with comments and even guest posts, all of which have been most welcome. I attracted a few followers, many of whom I suspect have long since ceased to visit, but are very welcome when they do. I used to spend much more time visiting and commenting on other people's blogs, but so many have fallen by the wayside, and I've been sticking to the ones whose writing I enjoy most, and commenting much less. Another reason why my readership will have dropped off!

You may have noticed the recent re-branding of this blog as Student Lola Life. I plan to continue writing, but in my new blog, http://dietitianlola.blogspot.com/. The style will be the same, and much of the content too, and I plan to include dietetics, but I will have to be extra careful about confidentiality as I don't want to give employer or patients any hint of grounds for complaint. Having said that, I expect there will be something about what I am taught in my induction, what my new workplace is like, and what my job contains. If I have a view on an interesting or controversial dietetic topic, I'm sure I'll be able to write about it. Beyond that, we'll see.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading, and you're all welcome to follow me in my continuing Lola Life.

New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve was a very big day. The lovely neighbours across the road had kindly offered their services for interview practice, so on Saturday morning I dressed up in all my proper interview clothes (including Lady Shoes) and knocked on their door at the appointed time. The next two hours were spent in honing my interview skills to such a point that I could have cut myself on them. I don't think I have ever spent two hours more usefully, and if I don't get the job this time it will only be that I fail to apply the lessons I have learned from them.

Then the new washing machine was delivered, and while we scrabbled round trying to turn off the mains water and disconnecting the old machine, the delivery men stood about wondering why we didn't anticipate that it would save time if we'd done this before they came. Buoyed up by the joy and wonder of having a new (and effectively free) kitchen appliance, we extracted the dead freezer from its built-in state to the middle of the kitchen, so we could measure it. It remains there, getting in the way, until we can be bothered to take the door off and put it in the garden out of the way.

It became clear that we would have to stop messing about with white goods if we were to get away and to the New Year's Eve venue as planned, so then there was a bit of packing and an attempt at fancy dress. The theme was 'Apocalypse', and I'd hoped to be able to get to town and charity shops, but ran out of time. So my best effort had to be limited to choosing all my black clothes (also advisable since we hadn't had a working washing machine for about two weeks) and my black leather bike jacket. Mr A couldn't do much better either, so it would have to do.

We checked into the hotel then went out for something to eat, followed by a drink at a random pub we found. It would actually have been very entertaining to have stayed there - they had a little dance floor and a DJ, and just before we left they had started some sort of game involving horse-related music (we didn't quite understand it fully) and everyone was very friendly and wished us a Happy New Year when we went.

We were on the guest list at the door of the gig, and were greeted warmly: "Oh! you're The Boy's dad, aren't you! I've been looking forward to meeting you!" The venue was an old warehouse, and in the yard outside they'd set up various tents, portaloos and stalls with some shelter, because it was raining quite a lot at this point. There weren't many people there when we arrived, but it filled up nicely. Luckily for us, The Boy's DJ slot had been moved forward to only 1.15 a.m. - it had previously been scheduled at 2.45, and we weren't sure we'd be able to stay awake that long.

We were the oldest people there, probably by about 20 years on average, and although there was very little light, we really stood out. As the night progressed, it became clear how obvious we were, and it was a little like being a celebrity - we were greeted by people as if they knew us, they took our photo or asked to have their photo taken with us. We did a little bit of dancing (most of the music wasn't really suitable for dancing), and that really seemed to impress the crowd - one lad actually asked Mr A how old we were, and others just said things like 'well done'. It was weird. But fun. We sat down for a lot of the time, just watching what the Young People were getting up to and all the costumes - the best by far was a proper Dalek outfit, including a hood, which must have been extraordinarily hot.

We did manage to stay awake for the start of The Boy's set, then wandered back to the hotel, where I fell asleep and was woken only occasionally by the other hotel occupants running up and down the corridor, shouting and banging on doors. Unfortunately Mr A remained awake throughout, so I drove us home as soon as possible.

2011 has been an interesting year. Half the time I was a student, doing very well, getting a great degree, and then spending the other half of the year mostly unemployed. I have done a few small dietetic-related jobs - the Communication Skills lecture in September, contributing a chapter to a book about dietetics as a career, and trying to set up Store Tours for people with coeliac disease, and then the turkey farm job. If my interview goes well today then 2012 may be the start of a 'real' dietetic job, and if not, there will be other interviews. Mr A and I are pretty happy together, we make each other laugh quite a lot, and that certainly makes all the other stuff easier to manage.

Christmas and its aftermath

Everything went very well over Christmas - presents were opened, The Boy's dinner was superb, and Mr A and I could sit on the sofa reading while he did all the work. The fare included my turkey farm freebie, which turned out to be a Three Bird Roast - a hunk of meat as thick as your arm comprising a (boned) guinea fowl within a duck within a turkey, with stuffing down the middle. The three of us got through about a third of it, and a week later Mr A and I still have some left. Very tasty, although I wouldn't be able to distinguish the three bird flavours; it might as well have been all turkey.

Now New Year is approaching, and we had to decide where to be. Smurf was offering quite an extravaganza at Pub Next Door, with a 'Stars in your Eyes' event, dancing at The Assembly after midnight, and an inclusive price for the whole evening. This caused some difficulties for us, as there were two types of tickets: either drinking or non-drinking, and the difference between them was £30. If I were to drink 30 quids-worth of alcohol I'd probably end up in hospital, and neither of us likes champagne, but I wouldn't mind having a few half pints through the evening.

Our choices were expanded by The Boy inviting us to the gig he'd be performing at in Bristol. While intended for young people, we quite like the music he produces (Dubstep, in case you were interested) and he would put us on the guest list. So that's what we're going to do.

Meanwhile I have recovered enough from the turkey farm experience to spend another day there, helping with accounts queries and writing my 'Guide to an Insane Month' for the next gullible idiot who chooses to help out with the Christmas turkeys. Actually, if I were unemployed again in a year's time I'd consider it, although Mr A would definitely try to talk me out of it.

We've also visited Mr A's parents, and his dad and I managed to scrape our way through the slow second movement of the Mozart Clarinet Concerto a few times. Neither of us had practised a great deal, so there were many stoppages and "take it from bar 48 again" moments, but he really enjoyed it and expressed the view that it was a shame we live so far away. I think we'll have to work up to the first and third movements over a longer period, because those have a lot more notes to squeeze into a bar.

So the year is ending well, and it's the first in six years when I don't have exams in January to look forward to, although I do have one last interview on Tuesday. If you're still reading, thanks!

A grand night out

Mr A and I went out last week. Together, into town, to a comedy gig. This hasn't happened for, let's say, two years? Although perhaps in that time we might have been to Warwick Arts Centre, but I don't remember.

I saw a notice that Henning Wehn, German comedy ambassador ("not an easy job") was playing at the Spa Centre, which is within walking distance. I don't generally keep an eye on the listings, because the venue usually hosts acts such as 'Brass Band plays Mantovani' or 'Gerald Williams, Hypnotist to the Stars'. The tickets were very reasonably priced, as Herr Wehn is pretty well known on radio but has not yet made it to the big time on TV.

Friday was the big day, and I'd already decided to make it a dry run for any future occasion when I'd be called upon to dress up, like a Christmas do or an evening soiree. I now had the Lady Shoes With Heels, the ancient historical and hand-me-down dresses from Lola II's friend, and I'd bought tights. The technology of tights has come on a long way since the last time I bought any, which would easily have been 15 years ago. That's probably all I'm going to say, other than both fit and performance are vastly improved.

Most of Friday was a struggle. Mr A had a bit of difficulty at work, making him very stressed, which means that he spent quite a lot of time de-stressing by sitting on the sofa in my workroom and telling me things that I had negligible capacity to influence. So I listened carefully and offered whatever support I could muster. Lola II was also having a bad day, and she called me to unload some of the stories and ask for suggestions, which I was happy to give, even though by this time I was in town, sheltering from the rain in one of my favourite charity shops (where I successfully bought a pair of jeans that fit, for less than a fiver. Lola II will potentially benefit on the 'one in, two out' clothing exchange system that I am still running, if she wants the pairs of jeans and chinos that are now too big for me). Then mum had a bit of difficulty with an online order for printer supplies, so I helped out with that as well.

So it was nice to leave all that behind, get all dressed up and go next door for a pre-show drink before tottering across town to the gig. Mr A had decided he might as well dress up too, given that his usual scruffy attire might look odd next to my attempts at Dressed Up. The distance is about doubled with the Lady Shoes, and Mr A kept getting half a step ahead and having to wait for me to catch up, but I made it in the end. It was a very good gig, focussed mainly on contrasting aspects of German and British behaviour, interspersed with audience participation in German carols - O Tannenbaum, Kling Glöckchen Klingelingeling, Stille Nacht, and another one I didn't know.

So I am now confident in my ability to present a well-turned out figure to society for at least half a mile on foot and three hours. Perhaps this might constitute my first step back towards the constraints of grown-up society after my detour into the very comfortable world of student life. I'd rather be wearing trainers, jeans and an old sweatshirt, though.

Movember

We are two-thirds of the way through the month of Movember. Not a spelling mistake, but a name reflecting the increasingly popular initiative to raise awareness of and funding for prostate and testicular cancers, by growing a moustache through the month of November. I like this cause.

Although I am female, I feel little solidarity for the pervasive ladies-only attitude that delights in the discussion of shoes, clothes, bags and Strictly Come Dancing. I don't feel part of the sisterhood that elevates women into a 'special' category and excludes men as somehow of lesser importance. I thoroughly endorse the Pink Ribbon campaign in support of breast cancer, and I will always support the pink-themed women-only 5k and 10k runs, but I really like the fact that for a change, men are doing something that women can't - growing moustaches - and sticking them in our faces. Figuratively and literally.

At the pub there are many unlikely moustaches on display, and at least three of my Facebook friends are taking part. I'm writing about one of these in particular. Let's call him Bruce, for that is his name.

I have known Bruce for more than a quarter of a century. We first met at university (my first time round), did the same degree, and became friends at some point in that first year. It could even have been the first week, but it's too long ago to remember. I don't think I will ever find better friends than those people whom I first met through those wonderful, heady three years at uni. We still see each other, sometimes at New Year, and occasionally at other times, and I have written about several of these occasions on this blog. CERNoise even wrote a post for the blog not that long ago.

Back to Bruce. Some random facts:

• His origins are proudly Australian.
• He owned a corkscrew known as the 'wiggle and twist'.
• He was a skilled playing member of the university tiddlywinks club (I was an unskilled drinking member). 
• He learned to unicycle with me.
• He used to be a diver (from diving boards, not sub-aqua) until he hurt his back. Now he cycles a lot and competes in triathlons.
• He bought me a toaster 25 years ago, and it is still the one I use every day.
• He is one of the best human beings in the whole world.

Here is a short statement from the man himself:

"This year, I am growing a fine moustache for Movember, which is a charity dedicated to men's health. On average men live less long than women - there is a theory that part of the reason is because men are fundamentally more stupid and fail to go get themselves checked out for diseases like testicular cancer and prostate cancer.

"Having talked to people about this, I reckon this is a pretty good theory backed up by evidence. I propose the following test - if you have to put your reading glasses on to read your iPhone and you stand up to pee, then go see a doctor once a year for a checkup. Works for me!

"Please donate to http://mobro.co/brucedevlin if you think the tash warrants a small donation to save lives."

And here is his moustache, proudly displayed, and calling out for your contribution to the cause. Go and donate now!

Conference

I had a great time at the BDA conference, although it differed quite a bit from my expectations. There were fewer delegates than I was expecting, and based on my experience running conferences in the past, the budget was a great deal larger than ours was. There was more sitting and listening to eminent dietitians and less up to date and relevant practical information from the field.

To open the conference they had Martyn Lewis, who used to be a TV newsreader and whose appearance fee is probably comparable with the entire budget of the conferences that I used to be involved in. He 'interviewed' a couple of luminaries in the world of dietetics about the history of the Association, now in its 75th year. We also listened to a talk about Elsie Widdowson, who in the late 1930's helped to compile the comprehensive tables of the chemical composition of food that we still use in their sixth edition.

One of the two breakfast briefings I attended was about the benefits of probiotic bacteria: the sort that are found in yogurts and yogurt drinks. It turns out that a) there actually is evidence for benefit in prevention/treatment of bloating in Irritable Bowel Syndrome and diarrhoea associated with antibiotic treatment and C. diff infection, and b) the strain of bacteria matters, so different products benefit different conditions.

During the main part of the second day there were sessions on the theme of 'Outcomes', which feature prominently in the plans for the future NHS as a way of evaluating the quality and value of input by the different healthcare professionals involved in delivering patient care. Establishing valid and positive dietetic outcomes will help to minimise the risk of dietetic services being cut in the next inevitable round of cost savings.

The third day was more practical, and included a terrific presentation about an audit in Oxford that reviewed the use of nasogastric tubes and gastrostomies during treatment of head and neck cancer. I also found out more about how the dietetic profession tries to ensure continuous professional development among its members, but glazed over when a management consultant talked about the future of commissioning within the NHS.


My poster time was on Wednesday. Each presenter had 2 minutes to talk about the research behind their poster, and there was time for a question or two. Because my session was right at the end of the conference, and there were only four posters (and only three presenters turned up), I was lucky that my tutors and lecturers and fellow students rallied round for me, so we had a decent crowd.

The main benefit of being there was networking, which was surprisingly easy, and I had very informative conversations with all sorts of experienced dietitians as well as those just starting out. One ex-student from Nottingham has been engaged in a full time PhD for three years, and thinks that this is enough to prevent him from going back to clinical dietetics. A freelance dietitian advised me that it takes 3 or 4 years of clinical dietetics before a dietitian really has the baseline knowledge and experience to branch out into freelancing. Another told me that she had taken every temporary short-term job that was available until eventually she found something full-time. I asked everyone whether they thought that the department where they worked was likely to be recruiting graduate dietitians, and all were fairly pessimistic about budgets, especially while the NHS reforms were still under review and nothing was certain.

I met the editor of Dietetics Today, the professional journal of the BDA. She was thinking of writing something about students or from a student perspective, so we talked about that for a bit. I mentioned that I don't live very near the university, so she asked where I live, and it turns out that a) she lives less than 5 miles away from my home, and b) she walked past our Royal Wedding street party to go to the park with her family. Then I sat down with a dietitian working in Coventry who lives even nearer to my home, and we even found that we have a mutual friend. It's a small world.

A final highlight: Lingering around the registration desk, I was invited to a forum to discuss the involvement of Kelloggs, the cereal company, in the provision of information for dietitians and their patients. Despite being a student with zero experience of actual independent dietetic practice beyond two supervised 12-week placements, I was still given a £25 voucher for my troubles. Result!

I have come away with a few key messages. Jobs are going to be hard to find, and I will probably have to accept that I may have to accept a short term post and work away from home, at least at first. On the other hand, I have a few other ideas which may occupy some of my time while hunting those elusive jobs, and may even bring in some income.

The next three weeks are going to be fully occupied with revision, assessments and exams, and I had actually forgotten how dull and frustrating revision is. Oh well, not long now.

Of mice and men

Well, the best laid plans can go awry, and on Thursday I was driven home in an ambulance! The activity I did that day plus the ongoing attempts at weight loss all led to what the lovely paramedics recorded as a 'vaso-vagal episode' - I fainted on the way home after donating blood. Big style, passed right out on the pavement. A guy who saw me go down came over to check I was OK, then he insisted on going back to the blood donor centre and hauling out a couple of nurses. They tried to get me back to the centre, but every time I sat up all the blood drained away and I had to lie down again, so eventually the ambulance was called.

On the plus side, I've never been inside an ambulance before. The two paramedics wheeled me in on a trolley, and I now know I'm not diabetic (blood sugar was 6.1 mmol/l), ECG was normal, but blood pressure was obviously low - the first measurement was 107/68, but it rose to 111/71 when I started to feel better (I have no idea what my 'normal' blood pressure is). Because they didn't have any other calls and I didn't live far away, they even took me home.

I felt well again pretty soon, but with bruises coming up nicely on both elbows, which clearly hit the ground before the rest of me. I couldn't go on to play at the new badminton club, though, so I spent the evening trying on clothes for the conference. I appear to have dropped one size, which is nice, but makes my smartest clothes look a little bit baggy. Then I had a go at some of the lovely clothes that I bought at one point in my life when I might have been described as thin, and it was clear that I haven't dropped two sizes. Not too far off, though.

Festival confinement

All of Christmas Day was spent on my very favourite activities: opening presents, eating, reading books, watching films, eating some more and reading more books. Mr A gave me Stephen Fry's autobiography and I gave him Mark Kermode's book about the movies, and we had each read about half by the end of the day.

Mr A did most of the cooking, despite being ill, and only asked me to do the Yorkshire puddings and open the oysters, which are my special skillz. I volunteered for breakfast scrambled eggs with smoked salmon duties as well, given that I knew he would be doing everything else, and he's not very well. Christmas day food was a triumph, with the roast beef, potatoes and vegetables done to perfection, and plenty of leftovers for the next few days.

Mr A has also been having a bit of a dessert frenzy over the past few days, considering that he's a bit unwell and at normal times we never have anything sweet after the meal. He made junket with the rennet his dad gave him, and then a magnificent treacle tart, and apple crumble, all over the space of two days. We haven't touched the junket yet, the treacle tart is now in the freezer, and I had one lot of apple crumble but he didn't even finish his. He has not yet emerged this morning, and I wouldn't blame him for staying in bed, he really isn't very well. I'm not sure I mentioned that.

The temperature outside has been as low as ever over the past few days, and with a big hole in the kitchen ceiling and an unreliable central heating controller we have been a little chilly on occasion. I haven't actually stepped outside the house for three days, two of which have been fully occupied by this stupid coursework, which is very nearly finished but always takes longer than it should. I'm determined to go for a walk today. The temperature on my PC widget now shows a balmy 3 degrees, and the forecast is for above-zero temperatures for the next few days, so we might see some thawing at last.

Dinner party

Doesn't time just fly by? I've been trying to churn out something interesting every three days, but my life doesn't have that many thrills, and now that the time for another post has come round again I'm a bit short of material.

Over the past week or two I've been working, occasionally punctuated by badminton, going to the vegetable shop, and last night, a dinner party. It's only the second dinner party we've hosted in this house, and went much better than the first. I was less ambitious with the food, and didn't over-cater too much at all (we've only got soup and some vegetables left). The company was loquacious and congenial, although there was a little bit too much talk of internal combustion engines of various sorts. It turned out that one of the party once sold a precious classic car to the father of another. It's a small world, except that a self-selected group of friends is likely to have something in common - in this case, cars and bikes.

We invited one couple to stay overnight. Our spare bed is in my 'office', and I made the mistake of leaving my computer in there. Given that I was the first to go to bed, at 2 a.m. it is perhaps unsurprising that they have not yet emerged, it is 9.30 a.m. and I have been up for some time and am getting twitchy about losing a morning's work, with deadlines looming.

Party food

We had a family celebration last weekend - another birthday. I find that I have very little to say about it, because all the people that I have in mind when I write this blog were there. But I can write about the food, which was, as always, very good.

Mum offered to put on a feast of Jewish food, such as we occasionally experienced either on a festival or special occasion or at a relative's house for tea. There was chopped liver, smoked salmon, fish balls, gefilte fish, beetroot salad, pickled cucumbers, egg salad, vienna sausages, and a whole lot more. Afterwards, we had a choice of lemon meringue pie and chocolate pudding (and dad very nearly poured Dr Pepper on it instead of sherry). It was all very delicious. And later on there was birthday cake.

I have volunteered to be in charge of food at a dinner party that Mr A is instigating, when we are inviting the people who hosted the recent bonfire party and our neighbours over the road. The last dinner party we put on was probably about five years ago - we aren't natural hosts, and on that occasion I overcatered to an extreme extent and was eating reheated broccoli for days afterwards. So I've been thinking about the food.

I think that there will be nibbles like olives and something small and cheesy when they arrive. The first course will be soup with homemade bread, the main course will be something that has been cooked in the oven and which isn't sensitive to timing, with roast potatoes and roast vegetables. Afterwards there will be something that has been prepared earlier and has been waiting in the fridge. Mr A is in charge of drinks.

So if you have any ideas about what sort of soup is best, what main course oven dish works for you, and which is the best dessert to prepare earlier, feel free to let me know. All comments much appreciated.

A Special Day

Hello, Lola II here.

Today is our mummy's birthday! There's really nothing that she wants or needs and she is always adamant that she doesn't want any old rubbish, just for the sake of giving her a present. Lola and myself wholeheartedly agree with this view of birthday presents. However, this blog is one of the things Mum loves most in the world, so it is fitting, therefore, to celebrate her 29 (again) years by posting something especially for her.

For interest, the other things Mum loves most in the world are her family (I'm assuming), her garden, mushroom vol au vents, finishing off biros, helping others, the colour of horse chestnuts fresh off the tree, the look on Dad's face when she makes chocolate mousse, the annual photo calendar from our sister D, people who speak clearly, times when her daughters don't look like they've been dragged through a hedge backwards, good quality jokes that she's not heard before, and a little taste of chocolate at the start of a journey home.

Mum's love for this blog is so great, that if ever I make the mistake during a telephone call of mentioning that Lola has posted a new entry, she will bring the conversation to a rapid close and race to her computer to view the latest. Lola II vs Blog? Lola II loses every time. I don't mind, though. I love Lola and her blog too.

So you've heard all about our mummy and now you'll have to hang on until May to hear the same about our lovely daddy.

I have a film to show you how truly magical our mum is, with her trick of a mouse made from a handkerchief. Unfortunately, Mr M has been working all evening to try and upload it onto Lola's Blog and it's not working.

In the meantime until we get it sorted, take it from me, she's wonderful. Happy Birthday Mum xxx

Food & Drink Festival

Hello, Lola II here.

Lola I, blog-owner extraordinaire, made a little harmless comment recently that there have been no contributions to her blog from anyone else for a while. Since I am the only official guest contributor (I don't mean you lovely commenters), I assumed that what she was actually saying was:

"I've had to go to work for weeks now and it's exhausting and it would be really helpful if you could do a little writing. Firstly because it'll be a nice break for me, but mostly because I love your writing style, you are eloquent, your grammar are second to a none and your speelling is exemplorrie".

My own motivation for writing is that Lola's brain is the size of a planet, near full capacity, and unless I give her a break and do a little writing myself, it is likely to explode. Not such a problem except that she is due to come and stay with me from today until Sunday, and I hate cleaning.

Last weekend Mr M & I visited Lola I and Mr A, and dropped in on the Leamington Food and Drink Festival.

The Taste Trail comprised of nine restaurants offering free food in return for a rating from the tasting public. The restaurant's hope is that, by the end, they will be classed as GOLD! Our part of the arrangement was free food, and entry in raffle to win a dinner for two. Mr M said he'd donate the meal we were sure to win to Lola and Mr A. Mr M is a much nicer person than me. I generously conceded that I would visit them before our meal.

Meanwhile, in a park nearby, there were oodles of stalls selling and demonstrating and tasting a variety of food, from Caribbean to Greek to French to Thai to Sausage Heaven and Olive Oil-tastic. All accompanied by soft background music, punctuated by the singer saying "oh sorry, that was the wrong verse".

My objection on the sampling food front is to the man who got the last piece of a pork pie and fed it to his greyhound. I stood back to watch the stallholder's reaction, ready to dive in and support local industry in light of this grossly unjust and disrespectful behaviour! In the blink of an eye I considered whether I was prepared to wade into a fist fight. Possibly. One with a dog involved? Oh yes, I love dogs.

What does the stallholder say? He says "is that an ex-racer?" SampleStealingMan says yes and the stallholder gave him the thumbs up!!!! Unbelievable. It's a sorry state of affairs when a proper sampling law-abiding person such as myself is trumped at the pork pie stand by a doggie. Hrrmph.

Top notch moments were the free bites to eat in Sabai Sabai (Thai) and Kayal (South Indian),the best chocolate florentine I've EVER had - crystallised ginger was inspired. Having a little dance with Mr M, his first cobnut, and seeing Mr A run like greased lightening down the stairs and out of the house with Lola realising almost immediately that it was because there was some kind of fancy airplane zooming past outside. Turns out it was a Spitfire, so Mr A's attempt to break the four second mile was justified.

We had a Rocky Road disaster, Portuguese nata cake-thing that wasn't up to scratch and the worst nutella crepes I have EVER experienced in all my life. Worst of all was when I popped off to the public loo and I saw a 14 year old girl walking towards the men's. In my super-helpful citizen mode I shouted out "no, that's the men's!" The child turned to me and said, "yes, I know". That little boy should jolly well get his hair cut.

Bank Holiday weekend

I'm looking forward to the end of my placement so much that I'm planning the contents of almost every day of freedom that will take place for the two weeks between the placement and the start of lectures in my final year. And thinking about the next phase of home maintenance - it will consist of a few odd jobs around the house, and then possibly exterior renovation: woodwork, brickwork and paintwork. And the car needs a major service, and I will need a haircut and a new bag for school, and I want to see ex-colleagues in Birmingham and Lola II and the rest of the family and some friends in London.

But before all that, we have had a three-day weekend, in which we were particularly looking forward to the Red Lion beer and film festival, including camping. Of course I let some people know that it sounded like a good prospect for socialising, and most unusually, three friends actually turned up! Unfortunately, one arrived earlier than us and left before we got there, but we did see two lovely people! And tried some different beers, although I think I still like the Slaughterhouse Brewery's Saddleback beer best, and that is served next door all the time.

[Note: Best beer of all time is still Timothy Taylor's Landlord, but only when it is served in tiptop condition, which is rare. It used to happen in The Metropolitan pub, round the corner from where I used to live in Manchester, and we once found it completely at random in a pub off the M1 somewhere, but even Smurf couldn't quite get it right at the Cricketers.]

Then there was the film, which was Léon, shown on the most enormous inflatable outdoor screen you could imagine, and projected from the back of a Landrover. But before the film, they played a brilliant introduction featuring the pub itself, which mimicked those old scratchy advertisements with still photos and a voiceover, for a women's clothing shop or Indian restaurant 'just 100 metres from this cinema'. I have looked for it on YouTube and on the pub's website without finding it, so you'll just have to believe me when I say it was utterly brilliant.

The wind dropped so the screen didn't move around much, and the sound was great, but it was quite cold. Then off to our tent, even though we hadn't really had much to drink, and Mr A could probably have driven home legally. Never mind, it gave us the chance to try out his second newest tent (don't ask), which is relatively easy to put up even when you've already had some beer, although smaller than the palatial tent we have previously enjoyed. We slept well, and came home next morning for breakfast and a shower.

We enjoyed the screening so much that we headed over again for Sunday night's film, which was Point Break. We wore more clothes that time, so were generally more comfortable, but we drove home again afterwards rather than camping. On Monday we attempted a hat-trick of films, but King Lear starring Ian Holm rather defeated us, so we have half of that still to watch.

Obesity week

Not much in the way of obesity this week, but I've been working hard on a presentation about 'Healthy Eating for Older Adults', and trying to make a start on my Case Study.

I'm finding the presentation challenging because I know too much, and I need to simplify it down or else it won't fit into the hour I've been allocated. Actually, my contact at the venue suggested it might need to be less than an hour, because the audience might find that a bit too long, so I'm guessing they are adults who are pretty old, or infirm, or both. Apparently they still cook and shop independently, so I'm going to do a section on food labels, as well as focusing particularly on fluid and fibre for the constipated among them.

My supervisor had a look at my draft presentation and said she liked it. She made a few suggestions for interaction, e.g. a quiz. I wasn't keen on a quiz, but I've now changed the presentation quite drastically, and the main section is now about comparing a lunch of beans on toast, soup and bread, sardines on toast or cheese on toast. It still needs cutting down, though - I might have to lose the section on the Eatwell Plate.

I can't remember whether I've mentioned that I've found someone who's agreed to be my Case Study, but I'm being very cautious about writing about real patients on this blog. The Case Study is a piece of work where I document the patient's medical and social history and treatment, and discuss the justification and reasoning behind the dietetic input. I have to present this formally in a meeting of the department, which is assessed.

I'm starting to work a little more actively with patients, given that I'm a little more familiar with what's expected and how to do things. I've now carried out quite a number of independent consultations, mostly in outpatient settings, where I've done the whole thing including follow up letters to the referrers. We use checklists that are misleadingly known as 'Assessment Tools', whereby the supervising dietitian observes our work, and indicates whether we have met professional standards or need to make improvements. Three of these outpatient consultations and the one consultation with my inpatient Case Study have been formally assessed using the Assessment Tools.

I'm not doing too badly - the communication side of things was always likely to be good, given my previous jobs and my mature age, but it's not entirely trivial to remember all the 'rules' and avoid the pitfalls. It is too easy to make assumptions, e.g. that people know that salt should be restricted to control blood pressure, or assuming that everyone eats or drinks something in the morning. Writing in the dietetic record and the medical notes is the hardest thing, requiring entries to contain all the relevant information, in the right order, without crossing anything out, but in just a few lines. I am incredibly slow at this at the moment - avoiding repetition and deviation simply induces hesitation.

In terms of obesity, I did have a chat to the Program Manager about their adult weight loss programme that has been developed for local delivery, called 'The 10% Challenge'. It's a 12-week course available free on the NHS to people whose BMI is 25 or more, which seems an absurdly low threshold. I didn't quite understand how they aren't overwhelmed by demand, but I found out that unlike smoking cessation and cholesterol treatment, GPs have no weight loss or BMI targets, so are not funded specifically for weight management. This would certainly make the programme less competitive in terms of GP funding for participants.

I also spent some time with someone in charge of the weight loss programs for families including a child who needs to lose weight. The obesity team have also loaned me a pedometer and given me a free T-shirt, and thus won me over. I'm not hard to please, although I'll have to sneak the T-shirt past the clothes police, aka Lola II.

Other news: I have had another birthday, and made myself a wheat-free and gluten-free banana cake with cream filling and chocolate ganache topping. I used Doves Farm flour and it worked so well that I actually forgot that it was 'special' as I took the beautifully raised cake out of the oven. My wheat-intolerant badminton-playing friend was delighted, as she usually has to miss out on any treats going round.

Mr A has also had a birthday, and we treated ourselves to a trip to the local sushi restaurant. It was not a great experience - the food was fine but service a bit flaky, and the cost too high to overlook this. On the way home Mr A expressed a desire for more food, so we diverted via a local Chinese restaurant. It was so salty that he told me today he thought he would have palpitations, and although I only had some prawn crackers and a spring roll I drank half a litre of water during the night without needing to get up and get rid of any of it.

Overdoing it

The planned six-day revision week with weekends on Tuesdays has already been blown away by an evening out on Friday night, when a badminton friend suggested we go to The Assembly for their regular 60s/70s/80s dance night.

This wonderful local music venue has been restored to resemble its original 1920's art deco look, and reopened in 2008 after being a bingo hall for some years. It's a brilliant place and we've been to gigs there a couple of times, but now the quality of the place has been recognised with a national award for best live music venue in the country. It beat off such competition as the O2 arena and the Shepherd's Bush Empire. which are very well-known establishments in much more affluent and well-populated communities, i.e. London.

The doors didn't open until 9 p.m. so we knew it was going to be a late night, but hadn't counted on the quality of the show. Unlike your usual Christmas or wedding disco, these guys knew what they were doing, and we danced our feet off (literally - Mr A could hardly walk home). We really enjoyed ourselves, and I found myself wondering if we couldn't do it on a more regular basis. At only £5 to get in it's very reasonable, and better exercise than my badminton. Drink prices are extortionate of course, but we can do without the alcohol.

The main disadvantage is the after-effects - we didn't get to bed until 2 a.m and I pretty much missed Saturday. I got up late, then had to make a trip into town to investigate the possibilities for mending the dishwasher, which has stopped filling with water. [Every so often I think about investigating the possibilities for fixing the oven, which still works in conventional oven mode, but doesn't heat up in fan oven mode. One day...] Once I had been to the dishwasher shop, and got a bit of food in, and cooked up some soup for the freezer, I had to go to bed again.

Our opportunity to re-live the experience came just two days later: on Sunday our favourite ex-landlord, Smurf, held his 40th birthday party at the Assembly. We weren't sure whether to go - after all, we're just people that lived next door to his old place of work, not real friends. But we did go, along with plenty of other neighbours. After Friday's night's excesses we definitely planned just to stay for an hour, and definitely get home before 10 p.m. Definitely.

To start with, Mr A and I sat awkwardly in a corner, pointing out people to one another with comments like "That tall man who drinks at the Cricketers, is that his wife?" and "He was here on Friday - do you know his name?" We weren't sure if this was more like a birthday party in a big venue so we should talk to strangers and introduce ourselves, or if it was more like a gig put on by an acquaintance, in which case we should just smile and talk to people we know.

Then there were bands - the first was 'Easy Money', a double act who used to play at the Cricketers on Sunday afternoons, plus guest drummer. The second was barman Gaz's band, previously 'Akeal', now renamed 'International Jetset' for better mass appeal. Then there was a 'one night only' get-together of disbanded group 'Broken Dolls', whose tour manager used to be Smurf. After that there was general music for dancing, although the majority of guests disappeared to the bar and the smoking area. I'd say that my second glass of wine was the main reason that we found ourselves out on the otherwise deserted dance floor.

We definitely got home before midnight. I'm pretty sure we did.

More of Lola II's birthday

As we left the last exciting birthday episode, Mr A and I were waiting for Lola II in a pub. I'm still not entirely sure how we managed to stay awake for two hours past our normal bedtime, but we made it.

The next day was filled with fun and games, literally. Lots of Lola II's friends came to visit, we ate pizza and we played games. Actually, just one game, because there were ten of us and it went on for quite a long time. But a good game, and Mr A won. So that was nice too. Then some of the guests went home, we ate Chinese food, some more of the guests went home and we retired exhausted.

At this point, I shall switch from focussing on Lola II to the usual subject: it's all about me. I would like to confess one of my failings as a human being: presents. I'm not particularly good at presents. Birthday presents, Christmas presents, wedding presents - I find them all a bit difficult, what with finding time to go to the shops (which I hate), choosing the right thing at the right price, wrapping it, labelling, finding a card to go with it, and then handing it over on or near the relevant date. I'd much rather bake a random cake when someone's not expecting anything instead of sticking to a conventional present-and-card on a particular day, the way that everyone else seems to operate.

With Lola II, I try a bit harder than with most people, but she still doesn't get many presents from me, and if I do manage to get her something I usually hand it over unwrapped in a plastic carrier bag on a random date. One year I really tried hard, and bought two things for her birthday some months beforehand, wrapped them nicely, and then when I handed them over on the right day, I'd completely forgotten what they were. Which was exciting, because it was as much a surprise to me as it was to her.

So this year, a special year when her age has a zero in it, I thought I'd try and do better. I started making a list before Christmas of things I know she likes, and bought them, wrapped them all up, labelled them, and found a card, and then hid them all over her house. I even kept a list of what they all were (so no surprises for me this time), and since we visited I have been drip-feeding her a daily present. The only aspect I have failed on is that several of them are wrapped in Christmas paper, but you can't have everything.

So Happy Birthday Lola II, I hope you like the presents (there are still a few to come)!

Love yow.

Lola II's Birthday Extravaganza!

Hello, Lola II here. With the enormous amount of homework my lovely sister Lola I is having to do, she has asked me to update the blog with the latest news. In particular, the passing of my 40th birthday weekend celebrations.

I will spread my report into a couple of postings mainly because, after many years trying, I still seem incapable of describing any kind of excitement succinctly.

So the adventures began on Friday, my actual birthday. The National Gallery is my favourite place in London and I very much enjoy their free Friday night tours of the collection, often with our father. I have absorbed a little over the years and decided that, for my 40th, I would invite friends for drinks in the gallery restaurant, followed by a private guided tour of the collection, ending with a 3-course dinner back in the restaurant.

What I didn't tell anyone was that I was giving the tour myself. I had looked into getting someone from the gallery to lead it but the £200 charge for an hour seemed excessive. Besides, I enjoy public speaking and I love giving surprises, so it would be good fun.

Sadly Lola I and Mr A couldn't make it. Lola did her best to see if she could bunk off her Friday classes so that they could make it down to London in time. Unfortunately, being the conscientious student that she is, she decided that she couldn't miss the lectures. Though choosing her studies over me would ordinarily be viewed as a gross breach of loyalty, I forgave her instantly because a) she really does have a lot on her plate, b) she was still coming down late Friday night and staying until Sunday, and c) she really is terribly lovely.

Back to the gallery. To start, we had our own special cordoned off area in the restaurant. As my guests arrived a pattern emerged. Firstly they would walk past where we were and I'd go racing after them. Then there was relief that they had found me and their surprise that I was wearing quite a glamorous dress. And shoes with heels! Then I would comment in an excited fashion "I HAVE A CORDONED OFF AREA IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY!!" and then they would be allowed past the deep red velvet rope and squeezed in with others for wine and nibbles.

Finally the moment arrived to lead everyone to the start of the tour and I explained that I hadn't been entirely truthful; that I would, in fact, be giving the tour myself. I had chosen four paintings:

#1: The Exhumation of Saint Hubert (late 1430's) by Rogier van der Weyden (1399-1464)

St Hubert lived for 70 years until the year 727. He was the first Bishop of Liège and is the Patron Saint of hunters, mathematicians, opticians & metalworkers. He was invoked to cure rabies until the early twentieth century through the use of the traditional St Hubert's Key

I'll leave you to look up the story behind the picture but I chose this painting because van der Weyden does an incredible job in his depiction of emotion and grief. Take a close look at the expressions on faces, they're fantastic.

#2 Christina of Denmark, Duchess of Milan (1538) by Hans Holbein the Younger (1497/8-1543)

At the age of eleven Christina was married by proxy to the Duke of Milan, who later died. At 16, she was then one of the most eligible brides in Europe and that is when she came to the attention of Henry VIII. The latest of his wives, Jane Seymour, had died in childbirth so he was looking for a fourth...

In 1538, Thomas Cromwell sent Holbein to Brussels to draw the duchess for the King to see her likeness. It seems she was quite wary and said "if I had two heads, I would happily put one at the disposal of the King of England".

This is Holbein's only surviving full-length portrait of a woman and I love the fact that I am looking at something that Henry VIII also looked at.

#3 The Toilet of Venus ('The Rokeby Venus') 1647-51 by Diego Velázquez (1599-1660)

I find this painting interesting because the reflection of Venus in the mirror (being held by Cupid) doesn't quite fit. The face itself doesn't match our view of the rest of her; the angle and size doesn't look right. Over the years the oil paint has become transparent and with the help of infra-red the original lines can be seen, suggesting that Venus was actually sitting up more with her face turned more to the left - this therefore may be the reason for the squiffy reflection.

#4 Ulysses Deriding Polyphemus (1829) by Joseph Mallord William Turner (1775-1851)

Interestingly, we gathered a few ordinary visitors who thought that they were joining an official tour. Afterwards we wondered what they must have thought when I stood in front of this painting and said "I really don't like Turner, his paintings are just such a mess...".

However, as I told my audience, the more you look at this painting, the more you see - it appears like a story magically appearing from the fog.

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Dinner was a three-course delight, complemented by an enormous shock when a waitress came up behind me with a candle in a cupcake, blasting out Happy Birthday. Then our sister, D, stood up to speak. It turns out that my friend, SR, had secretly gathered photos and comments from all my friends & family into an amazing beautiful album. Beautiful.

Home to Lola I & Mr A who were patiently waiting for us in a pub, and then on to Day 2 of the celebrations...

A Happy New Year

The New Year's Eve party at the Cricketers was a real treat. We were joined by the same friends that we were with at the Millennium New Year event 10 long years ago. Mr A cooked roast pheasant for dinner - there's a definite 'game' trend at Lola Towers since we discovered what good value it is. Then some dressing up happened, taking far too much time. I was ready in two minutes and sat down reading the paper for the next half hour while the boys faffed about with their unaccustomed finery.

Numbers were limited so that we wouldn't be too crowded in the pub, and Smurf had arranged various drinks and entertainments, starting with a quiz. The prizes were awarded to all teams by a lottery ticket system, regardless of ranking, so despite getting our traditional pasting in the music round we ended up with a very respectable prize of a bottle of Cava.

There was a singer, and although some people danced we decided to play a game. We were tucked away in the back of the pub, and had a lovely time, disturbed only by Smurf letting us know that a) there was a snack waiting, and b) it was coming up to midnight and another glass of fizz was in order. We finished our game in time for the walk to the dance venue.

The Assembly has been open for about 18 months, and you may remember that we went to a gig there to see Alabama 3. It is still great, the music was fine, we danced, I drank water, we danced more, and were there when they turned the lights on at the end. My acclimatisation plan worked beautifully - we'd been staying up past midnight for the last week just to make sure that we wouldn't fall asleep and miss the fun.

Next day went very slowly. After a late breakfast our visitors departed, and despite our best intentions both Mr A and I fell asleep on the sofa for long stretches of the afternoon. Acclimatisation doesn't take account of two hours of vigorous dancing.

Dressing up

In preparation for the glorious New Year's Eve party event, Mr A and I thought we had better have a bit of a practice with the clothes, what with it being Black Tie and everything. Good thing that we did - Mr A's dress shirt (which he must have worn last for the Millennium party we went to) turns out to need studs rather than buttons, and was a bit grubby around the collar. His trousers came nowhere near to being done up, with probably a three inch gap at the waistband (again, last worn around the turn of 1999). The jacket was passable, although a little tight under the arms.

My planned outfit didn't work at all - I need to lose an inch from my bust and waist. A standby plan was brought into effect, which was fine, and I even found the watch I'd been looking for for ages, inside my 'best' shoes (the ones that Lola II found for me in the charity shop). These best shoes are the only ones I have with heels, but are not in the least glamorous, and have rubber soles that make dancing a bit sticky, but it's those or walking boots (or sandals, slippers, flip flops or wellingtons). I went with the unglamorous but comfortable shoes.

Mr A sallied forth to investigate the world of charity shops, and returned with a pair of neat black trousers for £5 and news that a set of studs in the gentlemen's outfitters cost a fortune, and double that for cufflinks as well. I can't imagine how he has ever worn this shirt before, given that I have never seen cufflinks among his belongings and I don't even know what shirt studs look like.

After some discussion and investigation of my sewing bag, he ventured out into town once more. At the ethnic haberdashery he bought eight buttons which he proceeded to sew together to make four very attractive studs. He looked good to go: the shirt and tie were laundered, we had means of fastening front and cuffs, trousers ironed. The cobwebs and Millennium mud had been brushed from the patent leather shoes (which also had not seen the light of day for 10 years) and cleaned with Windolene - don't ask me why, but Mr A chose it in preference to shoe polish.

We thought it would be a good idea to assemble all the features of the shirt in situ, and again it turned out to be worth doing. The home-made studs and heritage cufflinks (retrieved temporarily from the family treasure) were fine, but we hadn't tried doing the shirt up before, and had overlooked the possibility that Mr A's neck no longer fitted the collar. I was called upon to move the button, but it still placed considerable stress on the Adam's apple. What a performance this was turning out to be. It had better be a good party.

The last hurdle placed before us was the tying of the bow-tie, which was overlooked in the previous dry runs and was only attempted in the last minutes of the lead-up to leaving the house. I had assumed that the clip-on version would do, but no, the dress shirt has a sticky-up collar that requires proper tying. After several attempts, I managed to produce something that bore a passing resemblance to a proper tied bow-tie. We were ready to roll.

If I can get around to it, I'll blog about the party itself. If I can't be bothered, then I should just mention here that it was a fantastic night. Here's to 2010!

Festive seasoning

The holiday season is half over, and all has gone well so far. Christmas Day lunch was fine, although at the last minute Mr A proposed that he would construct a pigeon breast starter (with salad leaves to placate me and my weird fixation on vegetable matter). Maybe he decided that there just wasn't enough meat. I really think that if he were allowed, Mr A would subsist on nothing but meat, salty snacks and wine gums. Anyway, against my better judgement, I let him, but I should have made him do it on Boxing Day because he just got in the way when I was trying to coordinate the main course. It was very nice, anyway.

We were very sparing with presents. I ordered a couple of books from Amazon for Mr A. One is about the history of MI5, written by the lecturer at Bletchley Park who spoke so well, and the other is the Booker winner this year, Wolf Hall, a novel about Thomas Cromwell. What you can't tell from Amazon is the size of the books, and while I knew they were both hardbacks, they turned out to be huge: each of them about two inches thick. Very impressive in terms of quantity, and the MI5 one has got the quality thumbs up already.

Mr A gave me three DVD sets, which is a bit of a swiz given that I now have to share them with him. We've already watched quite a lot of Fry and Laurie's Jeeves and Wooster ITV series, which is tremendous. We've been very surprised that Hugh Laurie is so good - I think he's busy in America most of the time nowadays, so we don't see him as much as Stephen Fry, who's on the box every two minutes here. The other two are The Wire and the first series of The Thick Of It. Plenty of economical sofa-based entertainment to look forward to over the coming year.

We've been rather unlucky with the weather, though. Some might be pleased that in the current period of unusually arctic temperatures we have been spared the travel chaos that ensues from heavy snow. We, however, are not planning to travel anywhere, and would have loved to take the toboggan out for a spin, but we have had nothing but a light dusting of snow which has long since disappeared. A neighbour, however, was determined that a white Christmas would need to be arranged, and procured a snow machine (it was more like foam, actually). Their house is in the picture at the top of this post. Very festive.

[The revision is going quite well, although at this stage I am always very nervous and unsure whether there is enough time/concerned that I am blogging when I should be revising/keeping emergency chocolate in my desk drawer/being reminded again of how unpleasant revision is. One factor that has improved the experience was finding an old cartridge pen, and cartridges containing purple ink. Lovely!]