Scenes from a hospital restaurant.

I arrive towards late lunch and find the place buzzing with people. At all other times I have been here it has been empty, but most tables are full and over half look like students from some form of course. For a start they are dresses in civvies and secondly, they are far too happy to be working here. By contrast the nurses in uniform look tired, pensive and know they still have a good half shift ahead of them before they can call it a day and go home.

The difference between these two groups is night and day.

The odd visitor trudges down the corridor holding his child’s hand tightly, perhaps ready to take a walk down the wards to their friend or relative. I suspect the latter, it is unusual to bring young children onto the wards for friends. But perhaps I am wrong.

The room quietens a little as several tables of my suspected students rise and gaggle off out. Leopard print trousers or leggings must be the in thing these days, they’re everywhere!

A calmness descends and the volume abates by several notches, thankfully.

I realise I am tired once again and can feel that impending sense of a cold heading my way. My sinus’s have started to play up and this is never a good sign. The dull temple and forehead headache has taken hold and the paracetamol have not shifted it. I fear this will be a long drawn out affair.

Three tables of students remain and I sense they will be departing soon leaving me with but a few others, else I will be alone like the Mary Celeste amid the sea of tables and chairs.

Wait, a man with a tray trolley strides manfully down the aisle not caring who lies in his way and nearly knocks over a customer. He doesn’t break stride or make any acknowledgement of his actions other than to deliver said trolley tray and return from whence he came. The lady shrugs gently and carries on regardless.

It is time for me to move on as well, I have my radio show here this afternoon and need to get ready for ward visiting and get my stuff set up, so I shall bid you a fond farewell for now.


About purpleandrew

Andrew, recently diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome is a 54 year old former geologist always had short hair, suited & booted for work. That all changed when the credit crunch hit. Now a complimentary therapist, hospital radio presenter, and writer. Andrew writes crime thrillers, Young Adult, and fantasy books as well as blogging about writing and other stuff that he feels strongly about.
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