Today I had an appointment at the local GPs to have a blood sample taken as part of my yearly tick-a-tack check-ups.
All went as expected with just the merest measure of humour. Hell, having pointy bits of steel stuck into your arm isn’t the perfect setting for mirth.
Anyhoo, in I went to a very quiet waiting room and was right quickly summoned by a young nurse. Her first words, which gave me an excuse to use an old one, were, “Please take a seat.” My answer was, obviously, to enquire as to which seat she was referring and to where she’d like me to take it. We joined in smiles.
She then asked me to remove my coat, it being a snowy day, and enquired as to which arm I’d like the blood to be drawn. I replied that I was quietly confident that someone else's arm wasn’t on the accepted list of answers. Oh, how we smiled again...
The only other thing of note, having recently declined the jabba-dabba-do and being the trusting old chap wot I am, was to keep a careful eye on proceedings to ensure that once the pointy bit was in my arm, that the nurse pulled on the plunger as opposed to sneakily pumping something into me. How sad is that then?
Addendumadodad; All finished, so I beat my way through the snow to the car. During the hazardous five meter hike I silently gave thanks and praise to the early morning TV ‘news reporters’ who spent their time, standing in an inch of snow, carefully and repeatedly explaining exactly wot snow was and the effects of low temperatures. Without this early information I may well have set out in summer attire. Really, who the hell do these folk think they’re talking to? If these ‘news channels’ feel this is needed, we’re surely lost. Oh, wait a snowy minute; they’re talking to the gimmigrants and our newest bestest ever friends aren’t they...
Quote; Rita Rudner.
“I was going to have cosmetic surgery until I noticed that the doctor's office was full of portraits by Picasso.”
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