A Waddle and Quack Sort of Day.

My wall calendar told me I had an appointment today at the doctor’s for my annual flu jab. It was a nuisance because it meant I had to change my routines around quite drastically to accommodate it, but I set to the task manfully and arrived ten minutes early

The whole site was heaving with vehicles because, as I later discovered, a Covid booster clinic was being held at the hospital next door, so I parked somewhere illegal and made my way into the building. I went to check in at the computer terminal, only to be told – in big red letters – I do not recognise you. Go away. Or words to that effect.

‘Your computer says it doesn’t recognise me,’ I said to the woman on reception. She interrogated her own computer and said: ‘That’s because your appointment is next Tuesday, not today.’ My wall calendar had failed me, so I slunk off with a waddle and a quack and a very unhappy frown.

I decided to take a wander around Ashbourne to check the charity shops for heavy woollen sweaters and thick flannel shirts in the hope of being able to survive the approaching winter season. No luck. And then I walked past the Costa Coffee shop in the high street (which I think they call John Street or something silly; I’ve only lived near Ashbourne for twenty years and I’m still getting used to it. I swear there used to be a plaque at the top of the market square saying ‘Charles Edward Stuart stood here and addressed the crowd in 1745’ but I looked for it and couldn’t find that either.)

So, the fact is that I haven’t been inside the Ashbourne Costa Coffee shop since lockdown began two and a half years ago, and strange as it might seem – considering that it used to be a regular, weekly, and much-valued practice – I haven’t actually missed it. But today I did. I really, really wanted to go into my old favourite coffee shop and savour a medium Americano, not just for old times sake, but because I really, really fancied a cup of good coffee.

I came to my senses quickly. ‘To do so would be a frivolous and unconscionable waste of resources,’ I told myself. ‘You gave up being a wage slave in 1985 and headed off to do the things you wanted to do. Times were hard without a regular wage, but you put your nous for economy to good use and survived to be where you are today. These are strange, economically perilous times, my boy, so continue the good work. Gird up your loins (that’s a strange expression, isn’t it? Gird up your loins. Mmm…) and walk on.’

And so I did. I walked back to the car with much waddling and quacking and frowning, and came back here for a cup of tea and two morning coffee biscuits. Sometimes I think I’m a heart of oak, and sometimes I sense I’m as thick as two short planks.