volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- captain birdseye. yum I wasn't at all enamoured at the prospect of working today, what with it being a Saturday and all that, but it was brightened up considerably when I had to page the Duty Nurse Manager. The phone rang back within seconds of me bleeping, and lo and behold, it was the only fanciable bloke in the hospital. That was a nice surprise. he really does have the most sexy voice, and at 7.54am he sounded all sleepy and bleary and fluffy, like he should've been saying "I'll go for a pee and put the kettle on. Is there an ashtray up here?" or something similar. Mm-mmm. Obviously, he didn't say anything of the sort, seeing as I was trying to locate some staff at the time, but it was a nice thought. Of course, once I'd discovered he was on duty, I thought up several cunning ruses to page him again, and banned everyone else from answering the phone. By 11am I was reading him his horoscope over the phone. (He's a Scorpio. Is that good or bad? I tend to always assume that it's a good thing, but that's based entirely on the fact that a long time ago, this bloke who was trying to convince me he was some kind of Goth love-god whispered conspiratorially to me "And you know what they say about Scorpio's...") He was a bit disappointed with his stars for the week, which seemed to revolve around buying party frocks and finding new sexual conquests, but then, as I pointed out to him, I was reading them from More! magazine. He was a bit peeved that I hadn't predicted imminent vast fortunes winging their way towards him, and I sympathised. But I managed to keep him talking by asking him what he'd spend the cash on if it appeared. It was all a bit predictable really- three new cars, a Lotus, a Jaguar and a 4x4, houses in Scotland, the Bahamas and here, a yacht in the Bahamas (I told him he was being greedy wanting a house and a yacht there. It's a good measure of quite how low my entertainment input is at the moment to see quite how much this little exchange thrilled me. And I think the same goes for my colleagues, who were all sitting around in the office treating it like spectator sport, and egging me on to ask him out. I didn't, because I know he's got a partner. My workmates weren't put off by this, saying "But have you seen her? She's hideous!". And to be honest, I agree. She wears big Deirdre Barlow plastic-framed glasses and needs to use a good volumising conditioner on her hair. But, y'know, I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable about them going on about how ugly they think she is compared to me- like your attractiveness factor affects your right to be in a relationship. Weird one. It's funny how attitudes like that somehow turn into collective consciousness sometimes. But- [back to un-PCness now] I still really fancy him. Up until fairly recently, I'd held the belief that you don't knowingly make a play for someone else's partner. My best friend always used to say "Enough people in the world shit on women, without women shitting on each other". I'm not so sure I still feel comfortable being quite so goody-goody and sanctimonious about it all. Bah, whatever. I enjoyed fantasising about lying on the deck of his yacht wearing my silver bikini and a come-hithering smile. Well, until he appeared on deck wearing one of those navy blue and white peaked caps and a jauntily-knotted neckerchief. Bloody typical. 9:31 a.m. - 16.03.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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