The Bat Phone Rings

....and I've lost count of how many times.

So a week on call 24/7 for the International Chopperdocs passed without so much as a tinkle on the batphone, and yes, what a luxury to be on call from home, but pretty limiting too; you can't have a drink, you must stay within an hour of the airport, you must carry your kit, etc etc. On the surface it looks like you're not working, but someone else owns your time. For seven straight days.

So by Sunday evening we'd cracked open a bottle of wine and stayed up late watching the telly because, bizarrely, there was actually a choice of programmes. Admittedly they were all British programmes (Top Gear, Parkinson and some drama with Victoria Wood in it), but what a novelty to have something to look at instead of reading books. Darren's read more books in the last year than I've seen him read in the past ten, though he's also run up a hefty fine on my library card for failing to return The Diaries of Watkin Tench, which I'll discuss with him later.

Anyway, I didn't mind staying up late because it was my turn for a lie-in, so there we were at almost half past midnight when the phone rings, and it's a biggie.

You see, technically Darren was still on call, albeit edging into the last seven hours of a 168 hour shift. But when he got the details of the job they told him it would take 24 hours, which means bang goes the day off, and more to the point, bang goes my lie-in. I can't help thinking a job that's going to take up all of Monday ought to fall to the person on call for, well, Monday, but in reality it depends what time they receive the call and anyway, the patient was a seven year old child so who's going to argue with that?

So by 12.45am he was en route to the airport, complete with all the requisites of an international superhero staying out for the night (clean knickers, digital camera) and by 8.15 he was on the blower.

"Is there any particular perfume you'd like?"

"Eh?"

"I'm in the duty free shop at Darwin Airport. We came to refuel and we're waiting to take off again"

"Where are you going?"

"Christmas Island. It's just south of Indonesia but it belongs to Australia, something to do with the mining industry"

"Never heard of it, though I suppose it's fitting, given the date. Well, yeah, seeing as you asked I'd like a bottle of Coco Mademoiselle if you see one, though I don't understand how you can get duty free if you're not technically leaving Australian territory"

"No, neither do I, but we had to show passports and go through customs"

"So you'll be back in Sydney what time?"

"Depends how long we're in Perth"

"Perth?"

"Yeah. It's the nearest city and anyway Christmas Island is governed by Western Australia, so that's where the patient has to go. Hang on I'll ask the pilot"

He went off to ask the pilot while I imagined Leslie Neilson in Airplane being asked how long will you be in Perth, Over?.

"Erm, we'll be back in Sydney on Tuesday. We've got to overnight in Perth because the pilots have flown too many hours".

So that's both his days off this week spoken for, Tuesday being the day he was redeeming his father's day present, a session on the flight simulator at Darling Harbour, which cost me a fortune. Sometimes it's hard being married to a superhero, especially when you know he's only got one change of knickers.

More importantly, is he going to visit my relatives?