I thought that I would save this blog from its fate as virtual space-junk by renewing my offence towards the world of blog. I haven't written for months; although I am always thinking things to write, they never find a more permanent home than my ever-diminishing memory. My writing reserve is spent on the endless paperwork of my job as a glorified medical secretary; six years of medical school and my finest achievement is my "excellent documentation" (as noted on an end-of-term assessment form by one of my Consultant Surgeon bosses).

I also must defend my breasts from a simile that compares them to self-saucing puddings. Although this was meant in "an excellent way" (I have written proof from the author), I find that my breasts have little in common with this sweet dessert. Firstly, there is no brown, sticky discharge from my breasts. Secondly, although warm, my breasts do not burn the tongue. Thirdly, although delicious, my breasts are not to be eaten. Alas, I am now unable to prove that my breasts are not pudding for the proof of the pudding is, of course, in the eating.