‘Do you remember when Labour won the General Election in 2024?’ someone might say in my distant future. Well, they might. After all, my brother and I had a discussion yesterday about our father’s succession of Volvos back in the 1970s and a holiday we had in a caravan on Fakenham racecourse, in Norfolk.
‘Oh yes,’ I’ll say. ‘That was the week I had a bout of gastroenteritis, and an over-cautious practice nurse referred me to be seen at a specialist clinic via the rapid ‘two-week-referral- appointment-because-you-might-have-cancer’ scheme.
Sheesh. After agreeing with me 99.9% that I had what I thought I had, she then said, ‘But to be on the safe side, I’ll refer you to see a specialist.’ A doom-laden letter duly arrived within 24 hours saying if I hadn’t received an appointment within two weeks I was to use the email link/telephone help line and make a nuisance of myself. It was VERY IMPORTANT that I did this, and also, ‘here’s a ‘phone number in case you need a counsellor.’ There was also what I thought an inordinate amount of information in the enclosed leaflet about how to pay for parking at whichever NHS establishment I end up at. I’m pretty certain that paying for hospital parking was never a thing back in the day.
Anyway, I didn’t need a counsellor to talk to me about something that I’m 100% certain I don’t have, because what I DID need over the following four days was to be at home and very close to the bathroom. I don’t want to blame the upset stomach on the pub meal Lord Malarkey and I went for on Tuesday evening but it seems a bit of a coincidence. We’d never been to this pub before, and we won’t go again. It took 50 minutes for the food to arrive after placing the order and their idea of being ‘dog-friendly’ was to stick us in a tiny cramped area by the main bar which was frequented by sweary labourer-types whom the landlady shouted at to ‘Stop swearing - people are eating!’
The food, when it finally showed up, was very nice with no obvious signs of potential food-poisoning properties. But you never know, do you, what goes on in kitchens and can be disguised by a hot cheese sauce? From the outside, the pub looks really nice. A classic case of appearances can be deceptive.
Yesterday, I was feeling pretty much back to normal, thank goodness. More tired and washed out than anything else due to lack of sleep, not helped by Nell’s latest habit of having sudden and random barking sessions in the wee small hours. One night, I marched downstairs, gave her two biscuits and said in my best stern voice, ‘You stop that NOW and settle down,’ and she did. Perhaps it was more the murderous look in my eyes than the tone of voice. Who knows, but she needs to get rid of this whim P.D.Q.
And then, to add a cherry to my terrible cake week, Labour goes and wins the General Election. Starmer was going on about sunshine rising on a bright new dawn, how the British people had spoken clearly for change…
…no, they didn’t. 40% of them couldn’t be bothered to get off their arses to vote and actually, Labour’s share of the remaining vote was about 23% which means that almost 80% of the country didn’t give a vote to Labour. That’s the joys of the ‘first past the post’ scheme, I suppose. Makes you feel more important than you really are.
Onwards and upwards then! I’m knocking back peppermint tea by the gallon to soothe my poor, tender digestive tract and later today I am going in search of some geraniums for instant colour for the courtyard. My own homegrown bedding plants are beginning to flower but it’s a bit of a slow process on account of the cold weather and general lack of sunshine. Sometimes, therefore, you have to go for instant impact. But look at this rose bush! Each bunch of roses you can see is growing from a single stem! What a star!
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