I am not going to say anything about the NHS today as my head might explode with fulminating wrath. The surgery and Pharmacy are, I appreciate, under pressure because nearly everyone is off due to being pinged by Track and Trace. However, that doesn’t excuse all the stupidity that occurred today, both with the surgery and the Pharmacy.
I want two things. I want to be allowed to put my own sticking plasters on my toe and I want my prescriptions dispensed accurately. Today I was, yet again, disappointed n both things.
I will say no more, but it does follow a pattern, as the National Lottery, once again, failed to deliver at the weekend. I hardly buy any tickets these days, as I know I won’t win, but, at a low point, and feeling that £71,000,000 might cheer me up, I did buy a ticket last week. If I’d have ignored the urge I would be £2.50 better off, and would not be feeling let down by those adverts that depict the lucky winner sitting by a swimming pool.
However, I would like to point out that if I had £71 million in the bank, I wouldn’t be wasting my time sitting by a swimming pool. I’d be reading in my magnificent library, breaking off at times to write as inspiration struck, and to dictate my blog posts to a secretary who understood how the block editor worked. At around 3.30 I would stop to sip tea and eat exquisite pastries with Julia.
Sadly, it is just a dream, but if I ever do come into a large amount of cash be assured that I will be equal to the challenge of spending it wisely. At the moment I’m just trying to work out whether I would have my own pastry chef or whether I would have cakes collected from Mrs Botham’s by one of the domestic staff. With great wealth comes a mass of complex decisions.
I may have remarked before that over the years several organisations that I helped with have had good lottery grants so it seems only polite to buy a scratchcard every now and again. I won £14 once.
Yes, I have seen a lot of sports clubs benefit from Lottery money so it seems fair to dabble now and then.
Of course the rich should pay more taxes for that sort of thing so that the poorer classes don’t have to shell out on dreams to subsidise private school pupils’ Olympic sports.
🙂 It’s just like Trotsky never went away . . . 🙂
I trot along in his footsteps. Mind you I am not in favour of forced collectivisation. On the other hand I am not in favour of starving people into poorly paid work.
I’m jut not in favour of people, full stop. 🙂
I am confused here. If we want to apply our own plaster over here (what we call an adhesive bandage), we just buy them in any store, even a grocery store will have them. Why won’t NHS let you apply your own?
Because the nurse spotted it when I went for an annual check up and they consider me to be at risk due to weight and circulation. Unfortunately the nurse won’t take no for an answer and it seems rude to refuse, but I think that is what has to happen.
Good thing you’re not a billionaire….the pressure for those choices would be overwhelming
I have modest ambitions, a multi-millionaire is enough for me. 🙂
Good to hold to your modesty…
I have, in truth, much to be modest about. 🙂
I was once Chairman of a Charity running a café staffed by people with mental health difficulties. One day one of these gentlemen asked me if I’d bought my lottery tickets. I said I never did because I’d stand no chance. He replied that it was good for the man who won 12 million the previous week that he didn’t have that attitude.
It’s an interesting dilemma. I have only bought three lots of tickets this year because I’m trying to stop, but I always get drawn back . . .
We can dream, can’t we?
I have set aside the spare room for you if you do win and feel the need to rain gifts upon random strangers. As long as you came bearing gifts.
I just had a (late) message to tell me I actually won £2.80, so no rush with the spare room – I need to win a bit more yet. Google informs me that we are just over 16,000 km apart and won’t give me a route either by air of by car (avoiding toll roads). I’m not walking or cycling, so at the moment, even if I win big, plans are on hold. . .
Yep, living in Australia seems a bit like being in an old convict colony.
I have a friend who did time in Italy for drug smuggling (you meet all sorts in the antiques trade) and he told me that life on a prison farm in Italy, where they gave you food and you cooked as a group, was the best it had ever been. Just goes to show that a sunny penal colony has its good points . . .
And why are you awake at this time of your night?
I have bad habits. And I like it when it’s quiet.
I can make Yorkshire Puddings would that count as a pastry chef.
You may need to expand your repertoire to include scones, rockbuns and coconut macaroons. If I win I am going fancy . . .