Thursday October 9, 2008
Another lovely sunny day, pure St Luke’s Little Summer weather, with blue skies, fluffy white clouds and warm, penetrating sunshine. We fitted in a trip to the dump, and to Sainsbury’s, and then when we’d got back home, had proper espresso coffee with an apricot and almond danish. It was shortly after 10:00.
“That’s what I call a successful event,” Graham said as he stacked the china in the dishwasher.
“Mmmmm,” I said, dreamily, as I sat in a patch of sunshine in my kitchen corner. ”Satisfactory.”
“Don’t you go nodding off. You have to go for your ‘flu jab in twenty minutes.”
“Oh. Alright, then. Bully.”
A little while after that, I took myself and the little silver Ford off to the doctors’, to find the carpark stuffed full and overflowing onto the street. I pushed my way through and went over to the carpark outside the DIY store, to wander through the sunshine, along the path by the side of the dentists’, and into a crowded surgery. They run the ‘flu jab appointments rather like airlines run their bookings–on a three for one basis, relying on cancellations to keep the queues under control. Hadn’t worked this year, because the place was jammed tight with old silver-haired dears all determined to get their free jab.
I had my jab, and a blood pressure test, too, with results that made the young nurse-type woman just a little cross.
“Oh. It’s perfectly normal,” she said, accusingly.
“Ayup,” I smiled. ”Always has been. No sign of deterioration in that regard.”
Humourless little jessy didn’t even smile back.
Didn’t spoil my mood, though, any more than waiting in line for the big sack containing my last Bridgwater medicines. By arrangement with my GP I’d ordered a full set of everything so that I can sign up with a new doctor in Neath with minimum fuss.
Back home, lunch, and a nap. My siesta was somewhat extended by a little post-jab mini fever, making for strange dreams and a startled waking.
And then we settled in to packing small things from drawers and boxes. Among them little books and photographs from several Somerset events. This one, of a wedding at the holiday club, demonstrates Graham’s ability still to turn a decent leg:
Turning a decent leg
Something else we found was a small set of CDs for the car I misplaced months back, among them a Don Maclean collection, including American Pie.
“Lawks,” I said. ”I remember buying that track when it came out in the seventies.”
“Before my time.”
“Yeah, I know. Before most folks’ time. How time does fly. Back then I wondered what he meant by ‘them good old boys’. Now I are one.”
