Before you start reading this; note the time and ignore the mistakes. Trust me, it was a toss up whether I blogged or not - and tonight my luck with coins was out.

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I actually left work at five tonight; the first time in ages. Of course there was a reason for that, I’d promised to drive Tracy & Co to Dudley to visit her husband who has just undergone a back operation to remove two disks. We had an in-depth discussion on the way up as to whether he’d be a bit shorter now – the panel is still divided on that one. We also put the world to rights - a bloody good moan does you the power of good at times.

The traffic was horrendous, they must have dug up every fecking road from here to Dudley and no matter what shortcut we took we hit yet another delay. We got there eventually and after a small setback; when we tried to park in the staff car park instead of the main one, eventually found a parking space.

Now her husband had only arrived back from theatre an hour before and the nurse in charge – the one who had obviously had years of practice giving you a Look, decreed that he could only have two visitors around his bed at any one time. Which left me and Nat sat on chairs in front of her desk to start with. (A bit like being sent to the headmistress’s office). We were both very quiet and only spoke in a whisper.

Now to get into the ward you have to ring a door bell and wait for ‘Her in Charge’ to press a button to let you in. Getting out is easier – you are allowed to press the button yourself. Obviously, you have to be on the correct side of the door before you become trustworthy.

Now the system works just fine when Matron is sat at her desk – but what happens when she’s off tending to the sick? I’ll tell you. You get anxious looking relatives peering at you through the glass in the door, desperate to get in before visiting time ends to see their loved ones. Some of them even wave to try and get your attention.

Now to the dilemma, do you get up and let them in? I mean; rules is rules. For all we know we could be letting in a nutcase (some may even argue that she was already sat there). But there was a system in place and a woman with a Look in charge. And who were we to argue? I for one, am now very susceptible to a Look.

I nudged Nat and told him to go and let them in – the look on his face was a picture; you’d have thought I’d told him to chop his hand off. He wasn’t going, it wasn’t allowed; spoken in an urgent whisper. By this point, the visitors had taken to tapping the glass in the vain hope of getting our attention.

Well, when the going gets tough – you toss a coin to see who loses and gets to let them in. I know, I know – you can’t actually believe we did that. If it’s any consolation – neither could the visitors watching us through the glass in the door either.

After I lost the first toss, it became the best of three. And I lost again (no point in doing the lottery this week then) – and still no sign of that bloody nurse. So being the brave one I sneaked – and I do mean sneaked – down the corridor and pressed the button to let them him. Then sat down again very quickly after informing said visitors that if anyone asked who’d admitted them I was denying all knowledge. (Oh and btw, I don’t have a Black Country accent – compared to that lot I sound posh!)

They, by this point, were laughing too and promised not to dob me in, even if She tortured them. It’s funny really – even the most stuffiest looking of people will smile and laugh if you do - and it would have given them something to talk about when they had got past the 'how are you today - I'm fine; what about you?' with their relatives.

This happened twice whilst we sat there and Nat was nearly crying by the end of it – the little swine waited for me to press the button and then said in a very loud voice ‘I told her she wasn’t allowed to let them in, but she wouldn’t listen’ - which resulted in me spinning around with a very guilty look upon my face convince Matron would be there Looking at me. She wasn't - she never knew a thing. Never mind passed an hour or so.

I got home just turn 8.30 pm to find that Himself had thought of me and made me dinner – well sort of. I made a stew yesterday and part cooked it – which meant that before I left for the hospital I’d prepared their dinner and they could just sit down and eat. Now I’m a bloody fussy sod when it comes to food, so no way will I eat stew.

I arrived home tonight to an announcement that my dinner was in the oven. And it was too - One Jacket Potato. Nothing else – just the potato. He didn’t know, he said, what I’d want with it. Now I know I’m on a diet but…

I microwaved some Quorn & pasta sauce in the end, tipped it over the top and added a side salad. Quite enjoyable when you're starving and haven’t eaten for nearly 8 hours :)