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I had a phone call at 5.30 this evening to give me an appointment for my next set of CT scans at the Royal Derby Hospital on Sunday afternoon. I have mixed feelings about it, but I still intend to donate a box of Lindor chocolates to the radiographers by way of payment to the ferry man. They might ask ‘what does that mean?’ and I can reply ‘think Styx.’ And then they’ll probably conclude that I’m completely barking and not speak to me again except to mutter from their radiation-safe cabin ‘we’re about to inject the dye.’ Come to think of it, that’s usually about all they say to me anyway, so the rest will be a welcome bonus.
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I looked in the mirror yesterday and made a startling observation. My new wheels – the little French Princess, the Lady Clio – is silver grey, and almost exactly the same colour as my hair. I’ve never driven a car the same colour as my hair before, and I’m tempted to think it must be significant in some way.
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I saw a woman of mixed race in Ashbourne today who radiated so much sunshine from her eyes that I couldn’t help smiling at her. That’s most unusual for me, and fortunately she didn’t smile back. And I had a double dog fix from a pair of dogs accompanying two elderly humans. One was a laid back Labrador who just looked happy to have my attention. The other was a pushy little scrufty dog who kept shoving my knee and saying ‘Hey, what about me.’ (I speak fluent dog, by the way. Hadn’t you noticed?)
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