A relevant joke:
The monks were having a game of darts and got the local
Mother Superior to do the scoring. All was well, until one of the monks—who’d
been too long in the wine cellar—came up to the ocky.
First dart, treble twenty.
Second dart, single twenty.
Third dart, hits the wire, bounces out and goes straight in
the Mother Superior in the forehead.
And the monk shouted out his own score: “A nun and an eighty!”
Where’s that relevant? Well, following a trip to the doc’s yesterday,
I had to whip the missus up the DVT Clinic at the hospital this morning. She
had a DVT years ago, so any possibility
of another one automatically means she needs to go for a quick blood test and
scan just to be on the safe side.
It’s not a quick in and out visit, so I expected we’d need
some cash for the cafe while we were there. I;ve gpot this thing about the cash
machine at the hospital always seems to be out of order, so I stopped off at
the corner shop to get some dosh.
Wouldn’t you know it—their
machine was down.
Nikki, on the till, offered me cashback if I wanted to buy
something, but I’m tightfisted, so I said, Nah, I’ll just use the hospital
machine.
I mean, all said and done, I was just playing safe—I’ve only
once ever needed to use the cashpoint at the hospital, and I was just getting
ahead on the slim possibility their machine wasn’t working.
We were early at the hospital, so I went to get some cash
from the machine so we could go grab a cuppa.
It was fine. There’s me slagging it off for nothing.
Card in—enter pin number (I always use 0000 so I can never
forget the number)—select ‘cash’, hit ‘£40’... and it comes up with ‘Sorry, this machine unable to dispense cash
at the moment.’
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| Like it says on the box |
Always trust the Force. I just knew that machine wasn’t going to work.
We went a little early for the appointment, instead.
While we’re waiting, there’s this old guy wearing just a hospital
gown and he was giving the staff no end of trouble. (Let’s call him Billy,
thought that wasn’t his name.) He was wandering off, saying he had things to
do, and had his gown pulled up between his legs like a Ghandi-style loin cloth,
and confirming, yes, all he was wearing was the gown.
They managed to appease him with threats of security being
called, and he went peacefully.
We had the appointment, and Harri was sent for blood to be taken
in another department, and told to come back in an hour and a half, giving time
for the test results to come through.
As we were heading out to the other department, Billy was wandering
down the corridor, saying he wanted to go to the canteen, and the staff were bringing
him back with the help of security.
Harri had the blood taken, and we headed for the cash
machine again. It still wasn’t working, and now there was an error screen on it,
and a group of people (including the engineer) stood round saying, ‘It’s not
working.’ [Well, yeah, I knew that.]
The cafe doesn’t take plastic and the little shop there
doesn’t do cashback—I’m not even sure if they take cards, either—so we went for
a smoke.
I know, I know, disgusting habit, but put that aside and
appreciate the timing and everything else here.
While we’re stood over
at the smoking area (and we could have saved oursleves fifty yards walk and
just had a smoke in the car park) along comes an old girl we haven’t seen for
ages. She lived just around the corner from where we used to live over 20 years
ago. Lovely old girl. Nice to catch up with her again.
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| Like it says on the wrapper |
And while we’re stood there, a double decker pulls up at the
bus stop, the driver gets out and comes over our way.
Bugger me, if it’s not Geoffrey ’obson, a guy we haven’t seen for getting on
ten years, at least. He doesn’t even live in this area anymore, he’s only down
here working for a while, until a job comes up back up in the north where he
lives, now.
A couple of minutes either side—enough for a cuppa—and we
wouldn’t have seen either of those people. Everything happens for a reason. I
don’t know what the reason is yet, but, sooner or later, we will.
Back inside, the machine was fixed, and giving out money.
We grabbed some eats and a drink, and took our time boosting
the sugar levels. When we’d done, we had a few minutes left, so went for
another smoke.
Yeah, I know, another?
Listen: everything happens for a reason. While we’re out
there, Billy—now wearing a pair of PJ bottoms and a teeshirt—is hoofing it,
barefoot, past the bus stops and car park and legging it out of the area. I stopped
a guy who looked like he might be security (but could have been a brain surgeon)
and let him know. He wasn’t security but he went back inside to report it.
Just to be extra sure, when we got back to the DVT Clinic, I
mentioned it at reception, and the nurses were going, ‘Oh, god...’
See? But for the timing (and the evil ciggies) we wpouldn;t
have met up with two old friends or put out an alert on Barefoot Billy. Being a
little early, the machine not working, how long we took for a cuppa and cake...all
the boxes ticked for things happening the way they did.
Still, the good news was the blood tests suggested no DVT. But.
Said the DVT girl, blood tests have missed them before, so Harri will still
need an ultrasound scan, next week.
Meanwhile, over the weekend, she has has to have a self-administered
(i.e. by me) daily injection in her belly just in case. Better safe than sorry,
and I’ll be shouting ‘A nun and an eighty,’ for the next few mornings. (See—I said
it was relevant.)
What happened to Billy, we might never know. As we were coming
out, men in HazMat suits were running across the car park with taser rifles at
the ready, and the dobermans off the lead. A chopper was circling in the sky, and
sirens wailing in the distance, so I figured they had it in hand and left them
to it.
