My tomato eyes have faded away to the slightly bloodshot of the hung over, and with the discarding of my overnight patches, I now have the pleasure of seeing exactly which kit shaped fuzz ball is trying to nest in my armpit of a night. And more importantly, I can visit the bathroom at night without fumbling around looking for the loo; a tad embarrassing when the only way you know you’ve found it is when your hand gets wet without turning any taps on.
On Saturday we chilled out and went for a mooch, pootling out to Sandwich to visit Mark at Number 6 where we had coffee with a side order of friendly bitching. We went to the No Name shop in No Name Street (and for those who don’t know, yes that really is the name. Or not.) which was unmistakably French.
It was French in atmosphere and décor, it was French in terms of ownership and staff. It was full of French food, from saucisson to real Brie that had a life of its own and bit Chris back. It was also full of French customers and I’m still trying to work out where they all came from, (those who just said ‘France’ slap yourselves on the back of the head) and why? I reckon Sandwich has an underground French community intent on invading us with their secret weapon – the pong of garlic and cheese, which is admittedly rather mouth watering.
With ponging stuffed baguettes we went for a walk along the river and admired all the chavs with their chavlets that were also walking along the river, and returned via the church. The church being of interest on this particular occasion because of the art exhibition put on by the local Bird Society. Which is of course why upon entering the first picture seen was a large stunning oil painting of a tiger. There were quite a lot of pictures of tigers, cheetahs and lions. Some were quite beautiful, and I might have thought about buying one if any of the good ones had cost less than a three bedroomed house. Oh yeah, and there were some pretty pictures of birds around the back too.
On the way back from Sandwich we stopped by the parentals for a very welcome cuppa tea and to demonstrate that my new eyeballs are fully functional. Chris took advantage of dad’s offer of a beer, which he muchly enjoyed after the mutual lack of alcohol caused by my enforced exclusion of alcoholic beverages.
On Sunday we went to the Dive Show at Excel in London. We decided to drive because without knowing exactly what purchases might be made, things could get tricky if we used public transport. I don’t think taking a couple of 12 litre cylinders on the tube would go down very well. Actually, we didn’t buy cylinders, but we did get some bits and pieces that we’re very happy with. Excel itself is
your knees and begged. This latter wouldn’t have been so bad if there’d been a paper towel alternative, but there wasn’t, and the see through bog paper wasn’t any good either.
We ate at the waterfront café which is part of Excel. Lovely view of the docks. Several different types cuisine on offer. There was no room to sit inside, so we sat outside despite the spits of rain. We are after all,
divers. And UK divers no less. We are ‘Ard. Which is why most of the big butch UK divers were crammed inside the café looking out the windows and pointing at us idiots who were relaxing leisurely in the rain.
Now this is Chris’ story to tell really, as he took the hunter/gatherer role. There were all these different cuisines with their separate counters, and we decided to go for Chicken Chow Mien at the Noodle Bar.
The set up looked good for fast and efficient service geared up for a high level of turnaround. As I understand it, there were two major flaws in the system. One, not one member of the staff knew a word of English. Two, there was one credit card machine service the whole place. Three hours of
guarding the table later and Chris turns up with two plates of dry chicken and soggy noodles, *twenty* quid lighter and a really, really pissed off expression on his face. We left Excel behind, and decided IMHO, that the Birmingham show at the NEC is better.
On Monday I returned to work and found far less of a mess than anticipated – my staff are brilliant.
On Tuesday I went to the eye clinic in Croydon for my Week 1 check up. The trip up was fun, the M25 at a standstill from the M26 onwards and as far as even the longsighted eye can see. Stuck in the fast lane doing 4 miles per hour at less than half an hour before my appointment was due, I called up the clinic to tell them I would be late. They confirmed that was fine, and the same instant that I cleared the call, the traffic sped up to 70. I arrived with around 3 mins to spare. I had a bit of a stomach churning moment when the ophthalmologist hemmed and hawed in a dubious manner, checked and rechecked the notes, hemmed and hawed again, checked and rechecked my eyes, hemmed and hawed some more, rechecked and- you get the
idea, and finally asked me when I’d had my eyes done. Last Monday, both of them, I told her and her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. That apparently agreed with my notes, which was somewhat reassuring, but what had her surprised, was that my eyes had healed to a level that she wouldn’t
expect before the end of week two.
What can I say, but that my immune system and recuperative abilities are my secret superpower. My Week One prescription tested out as 20/20 in my left eye, and -.05 in my right (always the weakest), and the expectation is that both eyes will improve over the next four months or so. She cleared me for, amongst other things, diving (once I’d finished the course of antibiotics on Monday), drinking alcohol (critical for girly weekend this weekend), and absolutely most importantly of all, wearing makeup (not that I necessarily will, but it’s the being able to that’s crucial). Then she told me to go away and not come back until my Month 1 check-up at the beginning of May.
I returned home the long way round because I though I knew better than the Sat Nav where I was going. I was wrong.
I looked forward to Chris coming around with the idea that we might now have a small
bottle of wine remains unopened.
Wednesday I booked the shuttle tickets for mum’s birthday.
And today. Well, lets just say that writing this is the most exciting thing I’m anticipating all day.
0 comments:
Post a Comment