Recipe
Take thirteen people – 11 men and two girls – who have all worked with each other for years; add a trainer who has a specific subject to teach in a set timeframe; mix well with a large sprinkling of mickey-taking and laughter, together with an element of embarrassment and nerves.
Cook gently in a sun-baked training room for six hours. Turn out when finished.
The subject was Emergency First Aid and, for most of us, it was the second / third / fourth time we had taken it. (The course should be taken every three years at the moment, but that will change in October when it becomes necessary to attend Refresher Days each intermediate year). The start time was 9 o’clock and a good few made that the start of their day. Not Muggins here, though. With the prospect of an eight to ten week ‘holiday’ coming up, I have to get as much work done as I can, so that the guy who is keeping my seat warm has an easy ride.
So – after my usual 7:30 start – I made my way through the country lanes to the training room in one of the farm complexes, about 8 miles from the office. The sun was shining, the birds were calling and it was going to be a great day. Usually, I enjoy training days, whatever the subject. I guess I enjoy being with people and watching what they do. I’m fairly comfortable with being me and don’t give a damn how others see me.
There are some people who take themselves far too seriously, thought, and they are the ones I just love to watch. Our friends today included:-
the Land Agent – from yesterday’s blog – trying to look cool in a pair of jeans and an open-neck shirt showing just too much of the chest wig. Oh and don’t forget the wrap-around designer shades, with some sort of bling on the side arms,
the Gamekeeper – sporting a clean shirt and trousers for a change, not clothes smothered in deer or fox blood and other gore and slime (it’s a foul job, but one that needs doing on a rural estate. I am so very glad that his Lordship does NOT do fox hunting or game bird shooting – at all – ever! The Gamekeeper’s job is to keep the vermin from destroying crops and trees – and I am so very sorry, Bambi-lovers, but deer do destroy trees)
two Foresters (father and son), hard, strong and with both with a wicked sense of humour and several chain saw scars (remember – it’s a First Aid course?)
several Landsmen – tractor drivers, sprayers and seedsmen, all wearing their work clothes and boots because they start at daybreak and had mostly completed a full day before the start of the course,
two office girls (both in their 40’s but I like to call them girls, it makes them giggle. Am I nasty?)
Oh yes – and me. Sitting quietly – watching – and ready to report back to you lot.
We got the housekeeping out of the way quite quickly and started on the course proper. Out came the Annies – life-size plastic dolls, but only head to abdomen, no arms or legs. At this point, I seemed to bear the brunt of all the jokes about dolls – and blow-up dolls – and “…..make the most of it while you can, Steve….” (do you get the picture? I’ve made no secret about my prostate operation next week, nor about the probable after effects.)
I enjoy people taking the rise out of me – because it allows me to get my own back later on! And I did – with knobs on!
The trainer was very good – demonstrating various stages of CPR and then getting us to practice on the Annies. Then we moved on to the various surveys we should carry out on the ‘patient’, in order to assess how much damage has been done.
Now, I’ve worked in an office environment all my working life – and that started in October 1969. The worse injury I’ve seen is a bad paper cut – although I did seriously ruck the carpet in one office, when I slid the desk instead of lifting it! Even the ‘construction site’ side of my life has been very, very safe. Perhaps I’m lucky – or perhaps my ability to see the funny bits in life that others don’t has also helped me see risks and dangers that others don’t, as well. I’m not sure.
We soon moved from working on the Annies to working on each other. In pairs, we surveyed bodies, assessed risks and checked for further damage on shoulders and chests, hips, arms and legs. For some reason the two girls stayed together. I said I would be very gentle, but they still declined. No spirit of adventure, these youngsters!
Getting our partners into the Recovery Position seemed impossible to achieve without a great deal of hilarity and some minor name calling. Of course, it had to happen – when you have six pairs of people working on the floor in a fairly small space, with the instructor walking around the room making sure all is well, someone will get trodden on.
I’m sure the swelling on my finger will go down soon. (and yes, it did go in the Accident Book!)
The rest of the morning followed much the same pattern – watching the instructor then repeating the same on our partners. Pretty standard stuff.
At one point, we started talking about previous accidents suffered by members of the class – with scars being gleefully exposed for all to see. Perhaps it is as well that this course took place before my op, and that I’m not having a perineal incision.
“Come and look at this, girls!”
No – I don’t think so. When’s lunch?
With sandwiches and curious pancakes rolled around mayonnaise with tiny bits of meat (are they called wraps?), crisps and cakes (really healthy) all dutifully consumed, we started on part 2, with the gory pictures of cuts and fractures, amputations and burns and many other vomit-inducing images. Why after lunch?
Then we were sent out to get the first aid kits from our vehicles. Although mine isn’t a company car, the firm still provides a lot of safety gear, including my first aid kit. I’ve had it for….oh…….two and a half years? Before I took it into the training room, I thought I’d better take it out of it’s plastic wrapper! We went through the contents and discarded all the stuff that was out of date – that would be most of mine, then!
Anyone want a nice green lunch box?
Then it happened – the inevitable – a phone rang. Loud and slightly …….. well, you know they say that dogs look like their masters? Well, I believe that the same can be said of ringtones on telephones. Mine, for instance, is a really up-beat salsa number. Our office Accountant – all drab, dusty and boring – uses a slow and very dreary fugue by Bach.
Echoing around the training room, the mobile phone rang on, using the crowing of a cock.
Eventually the Land Agent answered it…didn’t you just know it was his?
Of course, he couldn’t silence it, or tell the caller he was in a meeting. Oh no. He had to take the call – he’s quite an Impotent Person (sorry – typing error – that should have been Important?) Up he gets and walks out of the training room and, for some reason, we are drawn to the window. We can’t help but watch as he struts up and down outside in the sun. Up and down – up and down – up and ….. is that why they are called mobile phones?
The day is coming to a close and we canter swiftly through choking and epilepsy, diabetes and sunburn, drowning and log-rolling (yes, really! It’s where you have to turn a seriously injured person over, using six people, without causing more damage to spine or neck)
The final bell and it’s chairs on desks time, a quick home-time prayer (only readers over 50 will remember those) and back to the office at half past three. Except I’m the only dipstick who goes back to the office. The other three, who work out of the same office as me, beggar off home!
Life’s not fair….
Tomorrow is Friday and I am supposed to be giving blood – except I’m persona non grata now. But I’m going anyway, just to say goodbye – and get a free bag of Hula Hoops.
Thank you for being patient
Much love
Steve
xx
