Another Dream Bites The Dust.

It looks like the dream of going to Brazil with the Tartan Army for the World Cup in 2014 is over, finito, deid.  The dream is no more, it is an ex-dream.  I have absolutely no idea what made me have any kind of hope or optimism in the first place.  I should know better by now ffs.

Ironically, we played better in defeat that we did in our previous two drawn games.  We could claim we were robbed in being beaten 2-1 by Wales, a perfectly good goal was disallowed, and the Welsh looked lost til they got a rather dodgy penalty ten minutes from time.  But that would only distract from the main problems – we have a joke as a Manager, the S.F.A. needs a radical overhaul, and the grassroots of the game in Scotland needs major surgery.

To restore some pride in our national sport, maybe we need to vote YES in this referendum on independence.  Look what independence has done for small nations like Croatia.  How a man like Craig Levein, who not only lacks tactical acumen, but also is reported to be a staunch Unionist opposed to Scottish independence, can instill national pride in a squad is beyond me.  Get him gone, NOW.  Along with all those others in the S.F.A. who think we Scots are incapable of governing, or achieving anything by ourselves.

On The Road To Bastardom.

Every now and again I announce I’m going to start training to be a bastard.  Events in recent days, weeks and months have made me say that  quite regularly actually.  Being a nice guy seems to be getting me nowhere.  Well, last night at work I got to try out as a bastard, and with no little sadness I have to report that I think I passed…

As I came on shift last night, I was informed that one of the residents wished to stay up a couple of hours later than usual in order to watch a fireworks display, and that they had been told that whether this was possible or not would be entirely “up to John”.  The firework display – an annual affair for the Newton Ferrers Regatta – was to start at 9.30pm, and was due to run for maybe half an hour.  Normally my default position is to accede to the wishes of my residents, but this time saying yes was not so straightforward.

One problem was the knock-on effect accommodating this request would have on other residents, some of whom are rather particular about the time they get attended to.  I have yet to master the art of being in two places at once…

There were other considerations, but the main problem was that this resident needs two carers to assist to bed, and from 9 o’clock onwards I would be on my own.  I would be no good to anyone if I put my back out.  Doing so while defying explicit written instructions about best practice in manual handling probably wouldn’t do me a lot of good either.

It’s been jokingly remarked before now by one or two of my colleagues that some of the residents might see me as a “soft touch”, so willing am I to do any daft little thing for them.  This was one of the few times where I was going to have to say ‘no, sorry, I’d like nothing more than to accommodate you but it just isn’t possible’.

To say the resident was unhappy would be a bit of an understatement.  There were petted lips, and threats to “raise merry hell”, along with that of “going on strike”.  There was the expressed intent to leave the very next day, and stop taking any medication.

I was all the bastards under the sun.  The powers of the bastard flowed through me, triumphant.  And I hated every second of it.

So there you have it, proof if ever needed that even nice guys can be transformed into complete bastards by the power of the situation, as outlined by Philip Zimbardo in his book The Lucifer Effect.

We made up within the hour and no crisis ensued.  I don’t know if that counts as a mitigating factor in my favour or not….?  Still, being a bit of a bastard should make me more of a hit with the ladeez….  😉