A somewhat medic-intensive week. I'd a day of meeting variously drink- and drug-damaged people on Monday (numerous stories on application, but of course I'm not free to blog them).
Tuesday started a 24-hour burst of NHS-bothering by your obedient servant. I went along to an unfamiliar medical practice in the town for my over-65 screening of the state of my abdominal aorta. While I was waiting to go in, I chatted to a mother of 11-month identical girl twins, one of whom had helpfully developed a little birthmark on her forehead when she was a few weeks old. Notwithstanding that, the mother told me she thought they looked quite different. I retaliated by telling her that Martyn and I wished we had a quid for every time we were asked if we were twins.
After they went in, I chatted with a young man who was in for blood tests, having been bitten on the back in a Disgustedville nightclub where he'd gone for a night out with his girlfriend: he gleefully hoiked up his sweater to show me the nasty mark on his back. Wonder if I'll get to see the perp and his mate, the latter having held my young friend in a headlock the while. Anyone else share the image of TW as a place where you're likely to be gratuitously attacked by some thug while going quietly about your business? No? Then time to review your assumptions. I suppose my experience at the hobby exposes me to the deplorable exceptions among the local population, and I keep reminding myself of the fact. But when we have to drive through the centre of town after 23:00 we do so with doors locked and great circumspection, occasionally having to swerve to avoid scantily clad young slappers as they stagger off the sidewalk.
Well, I'm glad to report that the aorta is well within the bounds of normal, and Jenny, the cheerful ultrasound technician (belly-jelly-dolly?) reckons that, if an aneurysm developed and burst, it wouldn't be till I was 120. I shall tremble till the day has passed.
Back home, I fixed to see our GP's registrar to talk about aching joints and flaking hands. She prescribed topical ibuprofen (which, so far, is about as much use as a sick knee-ache) and signed me up for a spot of physiotherapy, for which I shall have to wait. She has also issued me with a rather luxurious oatmeal-based moisturiser, which seems already to be helping the mitts. All of the above free at the point of delivery: thanks, Nye! Except of course for £2 to park at the hospital for 33 minutes, which will perhaps help to pay the obscene interest we are paying to the developers who built the place. Thanks, Gordon.
Back at Forges-l'Evêque, we were indulging in a lie-in this morning after a night of troubled sleep when someone knocked at the door. It turned out to be the fellow who was to come and repair our fancy work surfaces next Friday. On seeing the yellow and blue blemishes, he could see why I was unhappy when he described them as normal. Anything but, he reckoned, and he was surprised that the slab had got out of the factory. He wondered if the installers had damaged it and done some inept filling. (If I'd had to do some patching of a black material, cadmium yellow and cobalt blue wouldn't have been my colours of choice...) Wo'evah, we'll leave them to slug it out: the repairs are just about acceptable, and in any case preferable to tearing the lot out and starting again. The repairs stand slightly proud, but we're assured that they will ride down with wear, Sir.
I had my letter from VW on Wednesday, announcing that my car is one of the dodgy ones, incorporating a software trick that makes the engine show a lower emission level in test conditions than in normal use. Interesting to note from the letterhead that VW holds a royal warrant. Time for VW to be stripped thereof, it seems to me. For decades we've been buying VWs on the basis of sound engineering, solid build, decent design and good driving characteristics. Not matched, it seems, by the honesty of their software engineers, whom top management seems to be blaming. CEO Winterkorn has fallen on his sword, rather than face the opprobrium and huge fines that are bound to fall on VW in the coming months. Unforunate that I was about to trade in my car. I'm tempted to wait for a while, and see what else crawls out of the woodwork. I can't imagine that other manufacturers aren't above similar frauds.
Oh, and prepare the fireworks: today's post brought the news of a £25 Premium Bond win.
No comments:
Post a Comment