The World of Psychiatric Nursing – Breakfast

I moved through to the dining room with my anti-sceptic spray, dishcloth and fork to clear up the mess. The fork was a personal innovation, which I used to scrape off the thick residues of dried-out corn flakes which invariably glued themselves to the table edges. All in all, it had been a fairly relaxed breakfast of only two broken plates, one spillage, two lost tempers and one puddle of frothy urine, so I allowed myself the privilege of standing at the front door for a few minutes rejuvenation. The air was clear as crystal and I drew it into my lungs with an epicurean relish, while for a few moments my slightly sweating body stood wonderfully impervious to the frost and whirling sleet……


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