A February wind blows no good. Stay warm. This is the time of year to be at your villa in da Caribbean. Come back when the land wakes up, when new growth brings hope.
Let’s hope we have a good harvest this year. The coffers still have plenty from last season but inroads are gradually being made into the store. Levels are slowly decreasing. I’m thinking blackberries here.
I am writing this stuff whilst listening to music on hold which now getting a bit repetitive. Occasionally there is a pause making you think that you are about to be out through to someone but thus far the only outcome has been a message asking me to “please stay on the line and we will put you through to one of our team as soon as we can, thanks for holding”. Eight and a half minutes thus far. My record is well over an hour queuing. American Airways. Airlines? Them anyway.
Took until nearly seven o’clock to finally get the authorisation code from the health insurance company. They approved it once and seemed to have cocked up somewhere along the line. All’s well that ends well.
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My out of office is on most of the time but it really is on for the next few days. There’s an old Tony Hancock joke that talks about hospital food always being mince and in fact there is chunky cottage pie on the menu here. I, however, had Seared Chicken Breast served on a bed of Crushed Potatoes, Honey and Mustard Carrot and Parsnip, Kale with a Rich Jus. Their capitalisations. Apple crumble and custard to finish. All good fair play. No sign of any chips though I will double check for tomorrow night. Probs can’t guarantee to keep them hot.
No brekkie tomorrow though and not even any liquids after midnight as I recall. I’ll have to check that one. Just did. Last fluids 6am.
Got an Uber here in the end. It was crap weather and didn’t see why THG should have to spend 2 ½ hours in the car especially as our Tom was arriving at four from da smoke. The Uber driver was very much into cryptocurrency fwiw. Bitcoin is currently at ninety seven thousand he told me. Dollars I said.
I’m now chillin in the Presidential Suite at the hospital. My name is on the door. I had to sign a piece of paper saying it was ok to have my name on the door. Presidential Decree. I’ve had a procession of nurses coming in and out. Mostly doing stuff they would otherwise have to do in the morning but it did include taking blood samples so that they have my blood type on standby tomorrow in case it’s needed! The nurses all go home at eight, which is about now. I assume they must leave someone on duty. “Your turn Doreen.” Florence.
The other punters all arrive at seven tomorrow morning. I figured a relaxed evening in the Presidential Suite was going to be a lot easier than not getting any sleep at home wondering whether the alarm clock was about to go off and then setting off at five thirty. Arriving the night before defo avoids the crush at rush hour. Think of the melee in reception. Tripping over each others’ crutches and walking sticks.
Not worked out transportation home. Taxi for sure. Maybs an Uber. Don’t know when yet. Depends on recovery time. THG has to go to her Uncle Bill’s funeral. I’d have liked to have gone. UB was, when in the prime of life, an all in wrestler. He and I used to get on v well. Ended his career as a welder in the Birkenhead shipyards. The Rose and Crown in Bebington was a particular favourite of his. Great pub. Worth the trip. You can take in The Lady Lever Art Gallery in Port Sunlight at the same time.
The times they are a changing. The old guard moving on. RIP Uncle Bill.
In the meantime it is too early to think about going to bed. There is a telly in the suite but I very rarely turn on the telly when staying in a Presidential Suite. Prefer the hot tub and room service. Just checked. No hot tub here. That’s ok. I’ll just spend my time writing out Executive Orders.
I might even read a bit more of my book. Rebecca Riots.