By Tom Reynolds
An fascinating mixture of humor, bravery, cynicism, and compassion." --London day-by-day Telegraph
It's the stuff of Grey's Anatomy, House, and ER--only those occasions aren't unfolding on a Hollywood soundstage.
Have you ever puzzled what's happening contained in the ambulance screaming earlier you in the course of your rush-hour travel? when you consider that 2003, Tom Reynolds (writing lower than an alias in order to not get sacked from his job), has stored a weblog the place he chronicles the day-in, day-out realities of his existence at the activity as an EMT with the London Ambulance Service.
By turns either poignant and profound, Reynolds's writing captures the very essence of existence and dying. From the mundane to the surreal, from the heartwarming to the cynical, from the calm to the frenetic, greater than three hundred entries from his renowned web publication at randomreality.blogware.com are incorporated within the book.
Dear Mr. Alcoholic:
Would you brain highly no longer swearing at me, taking a swing at me, or exposing your self to me? i've got relatively sufficient abuse from the nondrunks in the market. . . . nonetheless, not less than your fists are effortless to avoid, and if I cease protecting you up, you fall over.
The author's highly well known web publication, Random Acts of fact, has been named Medgadget top scientific weblog and top Literary clinical weblog.
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Additional resources for Blood, Sweat, and Tea: Real-Life Adventures in an Inner-City Ambulance
Thank goodness we didn't go in my sister's Volvo. Still, it gave me time to get the tea cosy I was looking for (or, as they call it, SchlurpWully) and I found a lovely new bedside lamp (LiteFondl). Ironically, next to the futon Stephen fell asleep on (NobEd). 10 Monday We told Stephen Junior that he's adopted this evening. He isn't, but there was nothing on TV. 11 Tuesday Read an article about how some frustrated women use cooking to compensate for the lack of . . well . . marital shenanigans.
25 Friday Stephen spent the evening in the Dog & Duck, crawling home around midnight. Unusually, I had a lovely, undisturbed night's rest. Stephen was asleep as soon as the pillow hit his head. 26 Saturday Spent a good five hours rummaging around in the attic. Once I'd finally negotiated the dust, cobwebs and back issues of Ladybitz Monthly, it was quite an eye-opener. My first find was a huge, ancient portrait of someone I assume was Stephen's great-grandfather, although he's never mentioned him.
Fortunately they'd had a cancellation so I managed to book a slot next Friday. It was a very reasonable price, excluding coffin tax, font duty, choice of pew and a hearse. Luckily, Stephen's mate Barry was able to help us out on that score as he owns a car hire company. He owes Stephen a favour, so he's letting us have a hearse at a knock-down price. I'm not entirely sure what kind of favour Stephen did for him. I'm not sure I want to know any more . . 17 Thursday Stephen's dyed his hair green and knocked back three pints of Guinness before breakfast.