Grumpy bugger exited neighbouring house, saying "It needs a lot of restoration", I replied "I think it needs none whatsoever". I could eat that shade of green.
Beautiful day in Fitzroy Square. Evans and Evans, the nylon-overalled sisters who ran the dairy way back when I worked in the government quango a stone's throw away, is now a cafe, the exterior just the same. Glory be.
Cut out an awful lot of figures in the waiting room today, couldn't bear to look up and see woman in terrible state having panic attack. Moved rooms. Got lost in 'Somerset Memories' on the tube, then lent it to Philadelphia woman looking a little lost herself in same wretched waiting area..
Mr Radiotherapy said, "Very unusual set of circumstances. They're being very thorough with you", and maybe they'll never crack the intestinal pains and shrug and call it Irritable Bowel Syndrome. We'll see. Mr Oncology said, "It will heal", and that somewhere in the very, very small print on the Tamoxifen label, it warns of liver upsets. Not to bother going back on Zolodex (I'd have turned it down flat if he'd suggested otherwise), quality of life vs. minimal improvement in my stats. That's all until breast surgeon check-up next Tuesday, and gastro-enterology the following week.
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Honest lot, Mr Oncology, medical trainee and Breast Care Nurse. Conversation re: footwear preceded all the medical stuff. So, if you're reading this, Nurse H, I'm e-mailing you a shoe shop link. xxx
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Just time for one more decent set lunch with JS at Il Sorriso before home, with selection of silver polishes, and range of oils for sun-bleached garden tools. Will do comparison test. Original spade and fork from 60 Greenway, lost to view for a decade, left in storage by MP erroneously in the drawer beneath a bed. Now happily in use again with me.
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Listening to Annie Whitehead trying valiantly to put a modern twist on the trumpet solo. We can all dream.
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