It seems an age since I’ve sat down to write one of these posts, what with all the other craziness recently taking over my life.
Something that I have wanted to mention was that on my last shift my area leader introduced himself as Frankie, and I went on to be surprised to find out from his accreditation that Frankie was, well, a nickname for his full name (Franklin).
This certainly got me thinking, once I decided that if Frankie had been on the other side of 50, I’m certain that I would’ve assumed his name was short for Francis.
Away from the Paralympics, as I’m sure you’re all well aware by now, I recently threw caution to the wind and bought a car. A car that my father has since dubbed Gypsy due to the last three letters of it’s registration plate. Part of me is torn between the idea of wanting to give the car a name, and my distaste over the apparent name it has since been given. I have since tried to come up with other names that fit the three letters in question, but to little avail.
I fear I may end up losing this fight.
To end, whilst it almost immediately became clear that teams were given names according to the NATO Phonetic alphabet, that didn’t stop me being slightly thrilled to be a part of Team Juliet on one of my shifts.