I actually spoke to Prince Harry (aka F2 Dr) today. Like, actually held a conversation without stuttering, stumbling over my words or blushing. Even I'm shocked.
We talked about nursing clinics.
At no point did we discuss movies, music, university, specialties or how he likes his coffee. You know, the important stuff. We discussed nursing clinics.
Which is why I am now working my way steadily through a dairy milk and an iced caramel macchiato. I do not care that it will make me fat. Calories will heal the pain of my stupidity.
Despite the fact that I have worked at our surgery for damn near nine months, I told him that there were no nursing clinics on that afternoon. He was a tad surprised, considering that he'd driven in specifically to observe one and that it was on his timetable.
Was there a nursing clinic that afternoon? You bet your ass there was. There were three. Three nursing clinics, that I was mysteriously oblivious to despite spending all morning staring at the appointment system.
I felt like a numpty.
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