A bit of a handbag

Wednesday November 2, 2005

Busy day. To Boston first of all, taking the car in for its three-month ‘courtesy check’ which seems to be little more than a visual inspection of the more obvious failure points. Needs doing, though, because it forms part of Ford’s warranty procedure and if you miss a service you’re in for trouble should you need to make a claim. For me, just getting through the first three months of use without the trace of a problem is all the check a reasonable chap needs. And, touching wood, there hasn’t been a moment when I’ve thought the vehicle was in any kind of trouble since I drove it away from the dealer’s forecourt.

While I was waiting I strolled into the town centre to get a traditional English breakfast in Georgie’s and then around the market stalls looking for a new wallet. The breakfast was good, reliably so, but the wallets were all billfold-style. I want a flat one. No matter. I shall find a decent one by a process of diligent searching.

Home again, I had an hour free before setting out to Spilsby for my follow-up cholesterol test. While I was there I threw myself on their mercy and asked to see a doctor so’s I could get a course of antibiotics with which to attack and hopefully eliminate my now slightly broncitic cough. “The cold seems to be gone at last,” I said. “But it’s left me with a nasty, thick chesty cough that’s very hard work to clear of a morning.”

My chest was dutifully listened to and mumbled over but I got my pills, along with the usual injunction to come back if things don’t clear. And a new one, warning me that the cough is liable to get worse in the first couple of days.

Home once more. By this time Dolly was getting puzzled, and not entirely pleased with me. “Make your mind up, why don’t you?” she seemed to say as I bounced in for the second time, checking to see she was ok. “Either stay home or go out. Don’t wobble.”

“Well, sorry, love,” I said. “Hate to disturb your routine. And here’s me needing to go back to Boston now to meet the other monkey-face from the train.”

And off I went once more.

Driving into Boston once in a single day could be described as unfortunate. Twice is bordering on carelessness.

Worth it, though. It may have been only a few days and, being honest, I was so thick with cold for most of them I was rather grateful to be on my own, but it simply ain’t right when Graham’s not here.

By now, driving up and down the road to Boston, I was having distinct flashbacks to that old B&W B-feature science fiction movie where they seem to spend all their time driving backwards and forwards along the desert road lined with Joshua Trees from which goggle-eyed invading aliens emerge along with strange early electronic music. Except the road to Boston is lined with cabbages, mostly.

Shortly after dinner the doctor’s new warning started to come true and I announced that I wasn’t feeling too hot.

“You’d better make it an early night, then,” said Graham. “We’ve got stuff to do tomorrow.”

“Really? What’s that?”

“Well, for a start, we have to go to Boston.”

“Oh. What a joy.”

“You can have a nice big coffee while I’m busy.”

“That’ll help. Otherwise it’d be a bit of a handbag.”

“Yer wot?”

“Never mind. You had to be there.”

 

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