Laudus Himself

“Should have stayed, are the signs I ignored.” Triggers. A “trigger warning”, normally a very short one if you’re listening to a podcast, is to let you know that what is about to be mentioned might upset you more than other people due to either your past traumas or a weak constitution. So I thought, and in a way I was right, but I'm wrong. Trigger warnings always seemed like pandering to pussies, to me. I have seen death, I’ve seen cancer, shootings and old age rip the life from people. I survived mentally, mostly, until I tried not to, but I lucked out and didn’t die. Grow up, make a joke about it and move on. It all goes away in the end, both meta and physically. Recently I had a friend kill herself and as someone who tried the same thing and apparently isn’t very good at it, it hit me much harder than I expected. People die, it should be a right but it shouldn't be one mistake. Anna’s death was a gut punch worse than any other and that includes my closest (although he was

W hen I first wrote this I made a joke about Boris Johnson being Prime Minister and Jeremy Hunt forcing a doctors’ strike. That was 2014. Since then nothing has improved, it’s got worse, just the personnel still running ruining the NHS has changed. Although I desperately feel for them, the Doctors striking won’t help the NHS, it’ll only drive it the way the Government wants: privatisation. A Monkey Cannot Do My Job I work in a hospital, in admissions to operating theatres and surgery too. As part of an NHS “cost saving initiative” following the Covid 19 pandemic, I was given a monkey for the week to see if he could do my job. Needless to say I was not very happy about this, but it proved an interesting week. A week which I had to report back on, so what follows is what I didn't send my boss. The NHS is “paper free” but retains the other ways to waste your time, you just don’t have to print them out which is great because none of the printers work. Arrival A bad start for me. The

“Hello lovely.” A fellow “mature” philosophy student, Anna adored alliteration. Even, dare I say, found it sexy. Sorry I could only manage three words my dear. Fiercely intelligent, a fellow philosophy graduate from my Uni and a person who would, I hope, have liked this reflection, recently had a full stop on breathing. Anna loved dogs, much like Hitler. She’d a sense of humour too and would appreciate me making that comparison. Anna was bloody funny. Brave yet wayward, my pal was always passionate: boasting a son she couldn’t love more, but struggled with the realities of. He was an excellent kid last time I saw him, despite her motherly complaints. Anna’s dog died recently. Her ex died recently. These things take their toll, and I know she loved them both deeply. Her dog was amazing, I never met her ex but her love was unconditional and everlasting. We tended to speak and meet between partners and/or mental health troubles. That was our bond and I now regret it wasn’t firmer. Posthum