Untitled #24

One of the troubles of living so far away from work is making time for doctors’ appointments.  After the surgery’s 09:00 opening time the next train out of the village is just after 10:00 and results in me getting to work at around 11:30.  Given my half hour lunch breaks I’m faced with the choice of covering those two hours at the end of that day.  Far from ideal.

I’d been putting off getting my new patient check done for precisely that reason but I was coming to the end of my current prescription and knew they’d insist on seeing me again before writing a new one.  I scored 09:00 appointments for both and took the day off.  At least that way I could have a whole day at home.

Appointments out of the way I returned home to find the husband struggling to get Little Mister to sleep.  Although he was clearly tired (Mr A, not the husband, although I’m sure he was too) he just did not want to close his eyes.  I bundled him in the buggy and took him out to trawl Liphook’s charity shops.  All two of them.  Now you may think charity shops are a great way of finding cheap but usable clothes.  Not in Liphook.  The chances are even if you do find something that wouldn’t solely be appropriate on your elderly next door neighbour, you’ll know the person who donated the item or your family will.  They’ll tease you mercilessly for wearing so and so’s old blouse.  I did manage to pick up a nearly new operation game for £1.50 so I considered the morning a success.  I stopped in the supermarket for some bits and got carded.  By a tiny, apologetic girl who barely looked old enough to process the sale without shouting ‘alcohol!’ and waiting for her supervisor’s approval.  Under 21?  She made my day!  I did wonder what on earth possessed her to think I was that young, especially considering I had Little Mister  with me.  Then I realised that the presence of both a baby and relative youth probably meant she thought I was one of the village’s large population of teen mums.

In the past few weeks the husband’s taken a few trips down the Anchor for lunch.  For some reason this set off a craving in me and I convinced him that we should have lunch out.  Now don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing bad about the Anchor’s food (now.  A few years ago it was an entirely different matter) but it’s nothing special.  Cheap and cheerful comes to mind.  But there’s something about returning to your old stomping ground, the place where you went on your first few dates together.  Some of our eyes may have been bigger than stomachs though; I practically had to roll the husband out of the door and stuffed his nearly uneaten burger in a napkin in our bag.

Baby clinic next.  Some things never change: the old ladies weighing the babies, Brown Owl selling tea and coffee at 15p a cup, the complete lack of privacy as you discuss your baby in the middle of the hall with all to hear, the chavs.  No, nothing’s changed there in the slightest.  Little Mister is a hefty 8.14 kg and incredibly interested in other babies.  He pretty much ignored the copious amounts of toys strewn across the floor (they’re still the same ones from when we took TB there) in favour of watching what the other babies were doing.  We discussed weaning and his eczema with the health visitor and came away with more certainty over what we’re doing.

TB was happy to see me picking him up from school; novelty is the key.  That novelty soon wore off when he realised that I wanted to spend time with him and not watch him play on the Xbox.  Still, being the cruel and evil mother that I am I persevered and at least got a few proper games out of him.

So as you can see, I have nothing much to say.  But sometimes you just want to remember how your day was.