As I lay on the hospital gurney I was having a discussion with the nurse about the state of the weather. We were both lamenting the current rubbish summer – and how lucky we both were that we had/were/are taking our breaks abroad. She was off to Minorca in a couple of weeks. C and I, after a short trip to Skye next week, are off to The Bahamas the week after. Of course, as only we can, we are arriving in The Bahamas at the height of the rainy season. And the climax of the rainy season is normally a hurricane. So that’s something to look forward. Maybe we should be going to Minorca?
Anyhow. What were you doing on the gurney, I hear you ask? Good question. Well put. As part of Somerset’s health programme, as a 55-year-old I am asked if I want to attend a bowel screening session. Yes please. At this point I could spend some time describing the self-administered enema this morning (well C helped), and the ignominy of having a camera stuck up my bum, but you don’t need to know the details. The good news that, without the need of the on-tap gas-and-air (apparently I was very brave), I was given the all clear. Actually I could have told the team that, as my insides were on display on a 32-inch TV screen for everyone, including me, to see. I was amazed at how ‘not dirty’ the left hand side of my bowel looks. C, who’s an ex-nurse, says it’s something to do with the enema. Good. Well a big tick there.
We’re in Wells (thanks to Nicky C for the field) on the way to drop off Doris at Chelstons where they have sort of promised to fix the awning leaks once and for all. We’re leaving her for a week and, via Annie B and my M&D, we’re heading north to Skye. Other than the driving, which is likely to sap my will to live, it should all be good fun. Hurrah!
And thanks for all the comments and calls about getting a grip and enjoying what we have. Go that. Am doing my best.