The doctor’s was crowded yesterday afternoon with old and young fogeys, along with a scattering of small children, all waiting for their swine ‘flu jabs. Some were nervous. Some were terrified. Most, like me, were indifferent, watching the clock and hoping to get the job done as quick as possible.
One very stern little old lady grabbed her poor husband by the elbow and forced him into the consulting room ahead of her despite his protestations. The door closed, there was a howl, and then a little while later out came the poor bloke, still propelled by the elbow, and looking a rather whiter shade of pale than he was when he went in. What it is to be managed in old age by a strong woman, eh? Or a strong man, come to that.
The doctor warned me that the site of the vaccination ‘might be a little sore’ and that I might suffer a ‘short period of very mild fever’ and then plunged the needle in, right up to the hilt. Didn’t hurt at all. The site of the vaccination was not and still is not sore, and I’ve experienced no fever or any other side effect (some 20 hours later). Didn’t even have vivid dreams last night.
So, all in all, it was a bit of a non-event, despite all the alarrums and diversions controversing and conspiring around the world. I feel a little cheated to be honest with you.
“Is there a mark of any kind?” I asked Graham this morning, proffering my upper arm for inspection.
“Nope. Oh, what’s this. Ah. Just a bit of dirt, that’s all.”
“You cheeky bugger.”
“I do try.”
“All I wanted was a little sympathy, even if there’s no cause for it.”
“Well, you came to the wrong place. I’ll put the kettle on. You can make the tea.”
Graham’s task since my last report has been the application of small natural stone tiles to the hearth and shelf of the new chimney feature. I think he must enjoy playing with mud because I didn’t hear a single expletive throughout the job and, at the end, when he’d cleaned his tools off, he expressed himself completely satisfied. They do look good but I’m still expecting some expletives when it comes to grouting and waxing the finished job.
Tiles, sans expletives
Dolly enjoyed the chance to watch Graham working quietly on a nice little project. She didn’t enjoy the Guy Fawkes fireworks yesterday evening, though, and I was obliged to spend a dozy couple of hours on the bed with her, cuddling and cooing reassurance at her. It worked, of course, and Graham got all misty-eyed when he came up to wake us as the fireworks died down.
“You two look rather cute there, all snuggled up,” he said.
“Don’t be too sure about that. It may look like Dolly and I are being cute but actually we could be plotting dire and extremely unpleasant thing here for all you know.”
“Nothing new there, then.”
