Week 177: claret coloured bump
Some work. I’ve quite a streamlined process for updating databases when bus operating companies cease operations, now – not enough to be cause for whooping and cheering, but it’s something, and I think the industry has got better at that sort of thing. Apart from that, it’s a bit grim, obviously.
Further to the Tesco Express self-checkout sardine from last month, I distantly remember a children’s book about some Cluedo champions who also investigated real crimes and caught a criminal who left some kind of small fish – I want to say a sardine, but maybe an anchovy or sprat – at each crime scene. You’d think a criminal could simply not leave fishy clues, if they didn’t want to be caught, but their minds work in mysterious ways.
Wednesday: woke in a bit of agony, something to do with the claret coloured bump from last week’s bicycle fall, a haematoma (write that in your copy book) in the buttock area. That evening, went to the walk-in centre, where they said I should go to A&E, so I did. Don’t think I’ve been since I was a wee child, if ever. (They call it the Emergency Department these days, to avoid confusion with the Arts & Entertainment Network TV channel I suppose.)
The hospital’s computer system had crashed. After twelve hours, I was seen and told to go home and rest – sound advice. The whole thing had been a waste of time but never mind ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. I’d been a silly fool for not resting, cos actually I’d been quite restless, walking miles and running up stairs for the past few days.
Spent some time staring at a vending machine, watching people get frustrated with the card payment interface – you’ve got to press the buttons in just the right way – then along would come an ambulance driver or medical professional, with their superior intellect, and get it right first time. Then once you’ve managed to pay, it’s pretty cruel how, in a place where people are likely to have broken arms, opening the flap at the bottom to get at your bottle of pop requires at least two hands.
The good thing about long waiting times is I thought I’d have to get a taxi home but in fact it was mid-morning so the bus service had resumed.
I had some bagels proving in the fridge, but the extra time didn’t matter; they still came out bad, but for other reasons.