Monday August 21, 2006
For one awful moment this morning I thought I’d lost it. There I was, filling in the prescription request form in the surgery at Williton when my pen faltered over a vital question: ‘Date of request’. Damn. Try as I may, I couldn’t bring the date to mind. I always know the date. I make a point of it each day when I start a new page in my notebook, and today was no exception. Yet… it had gone.
I looked around, hoping to find a calendar on the wall. No such luck. The ladies on reception were all engaged, so I couldn’t ask them. I was lost.
Then I noticed an old geezer standing next to me, filling out the same form. With the total lack of shame of the inky-fingered schoolboy I sneaked a peek at his paper, and there was the date.
‘Not an auspicious start,’ I thought, as I completed the task.
As it turned out, though, it was the only fault in the otherwise smooth line of my day. I drove over to Bridgwater, performed an effortless sweep through Sainsbury’s, and then took myself off to the house. The journal upload done, I pitched into the job I’d set myself—transporting the inherited paint cans from the garage to the recycling centre, then stacking our paint cans and decorating equipment neatly on the emptied shelves. I cleared the kitchen counters and was just about to start scrubbing them down when Hunger spoke to me with an insistent voice. After I’d taken my lunch I was fit for nothing so I left things as they were were and came back to the caravan, tired but happy.
On the way back I rediscovered another inky-fingered schoolboy trick. By twisting my tongue in a way I’ve not done for years and years, I can insert it in the gap between the tooth stub and the tooth next to it. Do you know, it’s the most satisfying sensation?