Having hung around for weeks waiting for the mole to be `Excised’ and for the follow up appointment to be fitted in we can announce in no uncertain terms that it’s ... a cluster fuck.
The results may be in, but the consultant in charge is away due to bereavement. This in itself is fine ... the proposed follow up in the New Year , Meh? Not so fine.
What is definitely not fine, is that Basildon won’t give me results over the phone, and of course I have run foul of the ultimate Dr Gatekeeper ... da da DAHHH!!! `the medical secretary’.
Hopefully tomorrow I can phone my own surgery, who for reasons I will discover tomorrow were closed today. Much phoning, much getting cut-off during transfers, much calling other hospitals to be told that the person I have been told is in residence isn’t even in the directory etc etc etc.
We hoped to be on a boat this week. Instead we are dawdling in Hertfordshire, then Wiltshire (walking and Cycling), then Somerset, and then if the gods favour us, we are going to grab a night ferry and drive to Spain. The reason being the reasonable price of the ferry across the Bay of Biscay is now a piss-take it’s nearly Christmas fare.
Tonight we are at another fabulous Camping and Caravan Club site in Devises, sitting in a pub called the Three Magpies, having had a fabulous dinner of Faggots, Liver n’ Bacon, with sliced Black pudding lathered with Onion gravy, some Old Rosie Cider and Bishops Tipple ale. There’s a log fire, decks of cards and a five minute walk back to our bed. Things could definitely be a lot worse.