Either I'm Too Sensitive or Else I'm Getting Soft

If it appeared that I struggled to earn my money in my previous post, what with larging it with celebs and the like, I can guarantee you that every penny of the salary earned for performing two night duties came at a price that seemingly rose faster than the price of unleaded petrol on the forecourts.

After the first fifteen hours where Battersea's Fire Rescue Unit crew spent a considerable amount of time and expended an enormous amount of energy, sweat, and possibly later, tears, at the devastating and tragic fire in Camberwell, the fire station's open day went ahead as planned.

For me, this involved going off duty at 09:00, but then working at the open day until it was time to return to duty at 18:00. Chasing Battersea's most formidably bold but elusive rug-rats around the drill yard as they disassembled the fire engine, attempted to liberate the contents of the cash tins, and appeared to make a mental inventory of the bicycle store, created a tiring nine hours 'off.'

Mrs Mac had made a long journey south across Hadrian's Wall (note to the long-dead Emperor: If the wall was supposed to be a barrier to the race of ginger-haired skirt wearers from Caledonia, how come there's an inordinate amount in London that empty the shelves of Tennants Super and shout at the traffic?) with her wee daughter Hannah and had then plotted herself up in my gaff while I was at work. She then attended the open day with wee Hannah and my babies where she won the top prize in the raffle. Yep, the Brady Bunch matriarch struck lucky!

After bidding me farewell she made off in my 1.25l Bad Boy waving her John Lewis vouchers above her head on a mission to drain my home's wine stock.

And I went back to work. If there was some kind of secret ingredient in the burgers that were on sale at the open day, it livened up the natives of Battersea to the point where they called us for assistance eight times between 18:00 and 23:00- a flat fire; an RTA; two rubbish fires- and I don't even remember the rest- before being redeployed to Lakanal flats in Camberwell until 04:30.

As I returned to the fire station, more exhausted than a set of Vanessa Feltz's bathroom scales, I had a plan to close my eyes and re-energise for an hour or two before preparing the station for the oncoming day watch. I didn't reckon for the spawn of Beelzebub that knocked on the station door after locking himself out of his flat.

Now, there's a line in Bob Dylan's song If You See Her Say Hello, (what a crackin' excuse to post a Youtube clip!) that goes:

'Either I'm too sensitive, or else I'm getting soft...'

It rang in my mind as I dragged my crew out for the tenth time in a shift to re-acquaint the Lord of Flies with his abode.

If you're sensing that all of this has resulted in little (well....none) running being done, you'd be right. I managed about seven hours domesticus with Mrs Mac and the Brady Bunch before she had to return north and now I can feel my systems beginning to shut down.

Much needed sleep is creeping up on me like a thief in the night but I'm fighting it and sipping a glass of vino collapso. No power-drinking this evening.......

.........just a wee snifter and a spot of Bob Dylan.