Back to the Ghetto

I'm back in the Ghetto tomorrow, the place where dreams go to die, where youth withers on the vine, where all that is virtuous is destroyed. On the plus side, I get to drink my tea out of a Cialis mug, which offers the opportunity for plenty of innuendo with the Offensive Line. On the minus side, I will be drowning in a tsunami of amoxicillin.

It's like going back to school after the long holidays really. I just do not want to go back in. This has been a good weekend really, The Miracle of Twickenham, a trip to North Wales, and one of the most dramatic Superbowls I've ever seen. (OK, it was only the second one I've watched.)

But, it shouldn't be like this. In the Ghetto, I actually dread talking to patients. Because the script volume is so damn high, if I spend five or ten minutes talking to one old dear, the baskets pile up and up, and the rest of the Lost Souls in the Ghetto start giving me evil looks, like I'm keeping them away from their diazepam on purpose.

One day, I will post something about good, nice pharmacies that I have worked in, where the size of your cock is not dictated by the number of items you do, to put it crudely.