The RSM, and a realisation or two...

The RSM (or Royal Society of Medicine, as I had to remind a certain Miss Brown...) is located at No. 1 Wimpole Street, London. It was founded on 22nd May, 1805.
On Wednesday, it was my destination.
Getting up at 05:30 to catch the 07:16 train from Port Talbot was a doddle, seeing as I'd been awake most of the night with cramping legs, and chest-pains.
The train-journey itself was tolerable, mostly because I toddled off to the "Buffet-Car" (so-named, methinks, because of the poorly-sealed windows and doors, and the inescapeable swaying of the carriage), and bought three espressos in rapid succession, and stuffed a bacon and egg roll.
I stayed there for most of the journey, thereby avoiding having to sit next to my father.

The train arrived at Paddington around five minutes ahead of its scheduled arrivel-time of 10:01, hence giving us a good thirty minutes to get to the RSM. Catching the Tube meant we got there at 10:20, ten minutes before the start of the conference I was to attend there.
Having arrived, my father toddled off to amble around London until 17:30. I walked to the lecture theatre, where all 300 chairs were eventually filled.
By noisy, irreverent, foul-mouthed, Cockney Asians. My FAVOURITE type of person.
Apart from the ostracisation I "suffered" on account of being Welsh, the day went smoothly, with eloquent lecturer after eloquent lecturer, each painting a vivid picture of the possible life each of us sixth-formers might lead if we decided to enter the medical profession. Each was useful in his or her own way, and I garnered much information from the day.

After three tea-breaks (during wich I downed another five cups of coffee) and lunch (which went disastrously wrong when my divine Moroccan Lamb Tagine decided to slither its way from my plate, to my jumper), I was ready for anything when my father collected me.
Under interrogation on the WALK back to Paddington (See? I'm NOT lazy...), we decided to have dinner at Garfunkels, which is just around the corner from the train-station.
Apart from the fact that my supposedly "Authentic" Irish Stew was served with panini ("Sure and beggorah!!"), and my father's gammon lacked the traditional accompaniment of egg and pineapple, the meal was delicious, and we were both soon rolling into Paddington on our engorged stomachs.

Having managed to catch the 19:25 train, my father promptly fell asleep, leaving me three hours of peace, during which I would finish my book (The Eye in the Door, by Pat Barker, part of a thoroughly gripping series which I suggest you read without delay), and listen to the various ecclectic artists on my backup MP3-player (my iPod having died during the previous week). These included Taylor Swift, BFMV, Green Day, The Tallis Scholars, Geofrey Tristram and Trivium, amongst others.

Arriving at Port Talbot at 22:25, we managed to drive home by 11:15, at which point we were both interrogated by my mother, during which it emerged that my father had spent much of the day in bookshops, and walking around St. Thomas's Hospital (not a misspelling, I assure you), which is his old medical school.
After this, my parents went to bed, whilst I stayed down (or up...), watching horror films on low-budget channels, and throughly enjoying life, with a dog and a block of cheese by my side.

Thursday was my Dead Day. Deafness in one ear, severe cramps and spasms in my legs, hips and back caused by the cramped conditions on the train on the return journey, and a thumping headache made it blatantly obvious that I was not destined for college that day, even though this would mean copying-up two days' work, as opposed to one.

Friday was better. Milked of blood by the Welsh Blood Service, I felt as if I had done my good deed of the day (which are regularly forgotten, trust me...). I managed also to either copy-up, or lay the foundations for copying-up, once I have borrowed someone's file.
Last night/this morning, I stayed up watching a film called Hostage (well worth a look, by the way) until 02:30. Even with a pint of cider meandering its way through my body, I didn't get to sleep until gone 05:00.

This afternoon, as of about 13:05, was spent in the company of the delectable Ab, until about 16:55. Even though I was a complete tosser (the consequence of a morning spent with two parents incessantly screaming vitriol in both of my ears), I thoroughly enjoyed, and hope that she did too.

As to the realisations alluded to in the title of this blog...;
i. I suddenly feel a massive force of attraction towards veterinary medicine.
ii. I'm going to leave home as soon as possible.
iii. I'm going to stop listening to the malignancy of certain individuals, as it does me no good at all, and consequently does those I love no good at all.
iv. Mothers' Day is just another excuse to be made to feel bad about your inadequacies as a person in general, and a son. And this is the case even though MD is TOMORROW...

Anyway, this blog has been infernally boring (as per norm), so I'll wrap it up here, save for this little marketing plug:-

WATCH "A BAND FOR BRITAIN" ON BBC2 AT 21:00 ON MONDAY NIGHT, OR ELSE!

End.