Since I was in Ashbourne anyway, I decided to kick my heels for a while in the town rather than needlessly wasting petrol to go home and come back again. My appointment was for 3pm and I checked in at 2.40. The screen said ‘You are the first patient to be seen.’ ‘Oh good,’ I thought. ‘He’s running early for a change. Maybe I’ll be back in time to have some lunch after all.’ And so I waited expectantly for the call to come any minute. At 3pm the screen flashed up a short message which said: ‘Dr Curry is currently running 40 minutes behind schedule.’
‘Damn.’
(But at this juncture it might be apposite to remind any Americans reading this and feeling desperately sorry for me in my hour of trial, that these visits are free. Nobody has to forego a visit to the doctor just because they can’t afford it. We never had the issue of Obamacare here, so none of our dear, rich capitalist bigwigs had any cause to rise up raging, frothing at the mouth, and risking incontinence at best if not terminal apoplexy.)
It turned out that the screen was doing the worst case scenario trick because I got called in at 3.30. My readings were determined to be satisfactory, my current little cocktail of meds given the all clear, and the world declared to be the best of all possible worlds. ‘Can I go now?’ I asked (even though I’d only just walked into his office.) ‘Yes.’ ‘Thank you. Bye.’ (I was intending to relate my favourite joke from a Laurel and Hardy film – since we’re both fans – but I’d noticed the next man in the queue looking a little restive so I thought I'd do the poor chap a favour and skip the pleasantries. When I passed him on the way out he said ‘You were quick.’ ‘I know,’ I answered smugly. ‘I made it so.’ Because I had. But it was still too late to bother with lunch when I got back.
* * *
Last night’s dream was an unpleasant one. I found myself treading about in a mess of all sorts of random bits and pieces. I had no idea what they were, why they were there, or what I should do to put them in some sort of order. The confusion continued for about an hour after I woke up, and the Blogger stats facility chose that inopportune time to start malfunctioning. (It still is.) I was led to suspect that either the stars are in seriously unfavourable alignment, or maybe my guardian angel is experiencing hot flushes.
But that wasn’t as bad as what happened a couple of weeks ago. I woke up some time in the early hours while it was still dark, feeling seriously scared because I was sure that there was an unfriendly presence in the room. This has happened before, and my usual recourse is to open my eyes to be sure there’s nothing to be seen, and then say ‘what the hell’ and go back to sleep.
This time was different. I was reluctant to open my eyes because my mind’s eye was suddenly filled with an image of a little girl in a long white gown climbing onto the end of my bed. It watched as she crawled slowly up the bed towards me. Her eyes were large and dark, and her face carried an inquisitive expression. I began to fear that I would soon feel her hand touch my leg, and then I did feel something apparently touch my leg. But it didn’t feel like something physical; it felt like a mild electric shock which produced a rippling sensation in my knee and a spreading of the effect throughout my body. And then it happened again a few seconds later. I waited anxiously for it to happen again, but instead I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was waking to a bright morning.
It appears that my imagination is a most potent force. Either that or I must hope that my guardian angel doesn’t make a habit of suffering hot flushes.
* * *
I noticed in the supermarket today that I’m constantly fascinated by ugly people (and there are plenty of them about.) I stand and stare at them, wondering how they came to be so ugly and to what extent it’s an impediment to living a normal life. And then I tell myself that such thoughts are unbecoming, so I stop and look away. Until I see the next one…
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