A few weeks ago, my kindle stopped taking a charge. Annoying, but not a problem, since I have the kindle application on my iPad. Or at least not a problem until the iPad also croaked yesterday. It was well inside its warranty period, but I couldn't find a proof of purchase. No problem for the kid in the Disgustedville iStore: he just read the serial number off the back of the iPad - a task for which I'd need a magnifying glass - and found the transaction: 8 July last year, it transpires. He needed to clear the warranty application (and helpfully did the form filling for me, since I can't really write at the moment), and by the time I got home there was a message in my email to tell me to come back tomorrow morning. Not clear whether this means the new machine will be there. Meanwhile I have a working iPad in the shape of the one I replaced last year. The screen has parted company with the case, but it still works
Getting from the car to the shop was rather painful. I
had a telephone chat with my physio yesterday, and, cutting a long story
marginally shorter, he has arranged a face-to-face (or is that
knee-to-face?) session with a physio in town tomorrow. Still, the phone
tells me I have hobbled over a km today, so perhaps I'm just making too
much of a fuss.
I went to see nursie yesterday to get a new dressing on my
dishwasher-attacked thumb. The wound is not pretty, but it is starting
to heal. Repeat visit on Friday. While I was there, she administered a
flu jab, which is convenient: we missed the walk-in clinic while we
were away. (Martyn can get his at a top-up clinic this Saturday
afternoon.) So I have been a big consumer of NHS services lately, and
am full of admiration for the staff thereof. I just wish the NHS were in safer hands.
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