Fans of wanton violence against dumb animals will no doubt remember that back in December, Big Sis chose to celebrate Christmas by splatting an innocent kangeroo in her American deathmobile. Well the good news is that less than six months on, her insurance company have finally agreed to pay for the damage to her vehicle (we can only hope the kangaroo's life insurance provider paid out as promptly), the garage have got hold of the parts, and this morning Sis took delivery of her newly repaired car.

At which point she drove off to college, entered the car park and ploughed into a post. But apparently for the fifteen minutes it was intact, the craftsmanship on that brand new bumper was a sight to behold.

As it turns out though, Sis isn't the only one driving around the bend on the road to hell. At 10am this morning my pharmacy manager came up to me with a distinct lack of cakes in her possession, and asked if I'd be willing to take the test to become a qualified NHS Transport Driver. It would mean me being able to respond to a medical emergency by abandoning my post, leaping into the pharmacy van and driving off with a load of drugs. All without getting arrested. So if Elton John needs some Viagra at short notice, I'm your man.*

As an enthusiastic employee, I considered the request for a moment, realised I could do with something to put on my CV, and said "Um... ok". Within half an hour, the Chief Pharmacist had agreed to pay for my test, and an hour after that, my manager returned and asked me if I'm superstitious. I said I'm not, touch wood. So she told me my test is next Friday the 13th. I'll probably drive under a ladder, break my wing mirrors and run over a wallaby.

* That's the Elton John Medical Centre, obviously.