Memories Are Made of This

There are loads of New Wine memories I didn’t get round to blogging about while I was away.

Chief among these is the Tuesday night risqué joke session in the medical centre staff room. Next time you see me, ask me to pass on T.J.’s “willy” joke – it’s partly visual and wouldn’t work written down. Then there was the slight stitching-up over Joe: part of my job was to assess and approve people to drive the much-mentioned Rover vehicle. I was asked to give Joe – a “new boy” in his first year on team – a thorough assessment, and within minutes I thought “this guy’s really good” – you can just tell sometimes. I asked him if he’d ever taken the Advanced Driving Test, and he admitted he had – “But that was before I joined the ambulance service and trained as an ambulance driver. And THAT was before I transferred to the police and trained as a fast pursuit driver with Traffic division”. Red face, anyone?

But the main memory was the evening I walked up to the top end of the site, where the gang from my church were camping: they forced me – forced me, I tell you – to consume vast amounts of beer and pina colada. I’m not sure how I managed to stagger back down the hill that night, but by gum I felt rough the next morning!

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