Why should I, as a mere customer, be permitted the
presumption of knowing a woman’s forename when we haven’t been introduced? This
is an English thing, of course, and I quite like certain English things.
The new girl in the branch of Lloyd’s Pharmacy next door to
my doctor’s doesn’t wear a name tag, but she does quite impress me. I noticed
when I first went in there (to pick up my statins which I’m now popping with
gay abandon) that she has an unusually distinctive look. I discovered on
Wednesday that she also has a vibrant personality. And she dresses stylishly.
English or not, there are times when I really do wish that I was thirty or so
years younger. I wonder what her name is.
Did I ever say that I become a different person after
midnight? I could understand it if it was dependent on the moon’s phases, but
it isn’t. It has more to do with Scotland’s major export.
I have my next procedure at the hospital tomorrow. How I do
hate hospital procedures. I sometimes think they’re trying to worry me to death
in order to reduce the drain on the beleaguered health service.
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