So I went to the interview; lovely hospital, nice staff, looks like a nice ward. Interesting area, definately good. I think it went quite well, in so far as I can tell – I felt that I connected well with the staff, the answered the questions fairly well – of course I thought of better answers once I’d gone; but yes, definately.
I’ve got *another* health form to fill in and, yeah, I’m knackered. 2 and a quarter hours to get there (would have been an hour and a half but for the *huge* ass diversion which took me miles out of the way; I actually got to the point of thinking I’d moved from insanely early to ridiculously late… in the end I got there with 15 minutes to spare though).
The drive back was a bit more hideous. 2 and a half hours – long stretches of slow traffic on the motorway… I am, officially, knackered. It’d’ve been alright if it wasn’t so hot.
And I’ve come home to a moderately cryptic response to my partial essay that I sent to be looked at. I say ‘moderately cryptic’, because I’m not *quite* sure what I’m meant to take from it. I *think* he’s saying it’s going in the right direction but needs some tweaking. Which is good. But then there’s some points and a document he’s attached that I don’t entirely follow what I’m meant to do with the information from. But hey. I’m going to leave that for when I’m feeling more awake, because the driving, well, it’s tired me out. Well, the driving, and the heat.
Oh, and the 10 fracking quid for a sandwich, a yoghurt, a packet of chips [sic] and a coffee. What the hell?! If they were all organic ingredients, hand picked and carried from the field by unicorns with tack made from hand twisted gold threads on carts made from clouds I might consider 4 quid for a baguette a fair price, but given that it appeared to be incredibly average I feel somewhat agrieved paying such prices.
Ah well.
