Got up. Breakfast. Wrote a bit. Two cups of tea and a bit of exercise. Drove down to surgery.
The nurse, after much prodding and considering her options, hit blood on the second attempt and filled the necessary three tubes. I gave her a urine sample, which she had texted me about yesterday afternoon (my texts to and from the nursing profession, if that mythical future PhD student ever finds them, will appear slightly strange).
Did I ever tell you about the photo of my leg which I sent to the doctor. During the phone consultation surrounding my cellulitis (which I had a month before my first Covid) I was asked to provide a picture of my leg, which I did. It was not pleasant. A few minutes later I got a call.
“Mr Wilson,” she said, ” It’s X here from the surgery. Can you tell me why you sent this picture of your leg?” (She wasn’t really called X, I just forgot her name).
“The doctor asked me to send it.”
“Oh, that’s alright then.”
“Did you think I’d just sent you a picture of my festering leg.”
“You’s be surprised,” she said, with the air of one who has suffered, “if you saw some of the pictures people sent me.”
Got a parking space at work. Had a call from the man who sent Julia’s birthday present. It seems Parcelforce tried to deliver it three times – all at 9 o’clock and all to a shop that has it’s opening hours displayed as starting at 10am. Three times, no success. Why? And why no cards through the door? Normally would be there at 9.00 but because Julia has been off it’s been more like 9.15, or I would have seen them.
To try the exact same time twice is hopeful, to do it three times is jsut plain stupidity.
The rest of the day was quite good and my sister, having been round town with Julia all day, saw me for tea and chocolate biscuits before her return home.
Fish and chips for tea.
The pictures are some Julia took when they had a tour of some of the Mediaeval caves under the centre of town. This set used to be a tannery. The stench must have been dreadful.
All in all, a good day.