Well, tick off another resolution, sort of. Number 8 on my list of tasks for the New Year was to give blood. This was the one that I was most expecting to fail at, for a variety of reasons: namely that I have a big problem with needles, and get rather squeamish at the sight of blood - which, incidentally are the exact same reasons for my not having achieved my childhood ambition of becoming a surgeon.

Luckily, my friend Charlie is an avid donor and wasn't going to let me bottle this one (bottling referring to 'wussing out' rather than the storage of blood, which they put in bags). As she was due for a donation this week, she suggested we pop along to the clinic near Oxford Circus, and was extremely helpful in reassuring me both that it was painless, and that my trip to Egypt last year wouldn't bar me from donating (thus leading everyone to suspect I had engaged in the sort of sordid activities we all know might make your blood icky). Although when we arrived yesterday evening, I was still a little nervous:

As it turned out the process was indeed painless, in every sense of the word. After a little form filling, a short wait and an iron test, I soon found myself stood beside a bed while it was being swapped around because I was an awkward lefty and asked to donate from my right arm.

I would have liked to get some pictures during the process for posterity, but everything was so efficient I didn't have time to ask, and I wouldn't want to take photos without asking, because there may be security concerns...god forbid the fundamentalist vampires got an idea of the layout of the place!

I must admit I was slightly concerned when the bloodletting operative (their exact title escaping me) had trouble finding my vein, and had to check my other arm for reference, but before long I was attached to a slowly filling bag o' blood. I say slowly, because there was apparently a kink in the aptly-named "bleed line", which made the whole process take far longer than anticipated. One poor member of staff was press-ganged into holding the tube straight in the hopes of speeding it up, but to no avail.

After about 15 minutes, which I was informed is the cut-off time, there was only about 2/3 of a pint in the bag, so unfortunately, my donation could not be used. End result? I went through all the motions, and had to leave slightly light-headed but without the smug sense of self-satisfaction that I was expecting. On the plus side, I still got a free biscuit.

So I'm not sure if I can really tick this resolution off. Granted, I did give some blood, but not entirely enough blood. And while the problems were (I'm assured) not my fault, I can't in good faith call this a successfully completed task, even if I did get the same plaster as everyone else:

But I'm not going to let this discourage me. I'll be allowed to try again in 12 weeks, and given we're less than halfway through the year, I can have a good two more attempts at this. Plus I now know I can do it, having sat there with a perforated vein for at least twice as long as most everyone else that day.

I shall help my fellow man! Oh, yes.