"Can I take the dog for a walk?" The instructions are implicit: light exercise for seven days meaning pottering in the garden and making a cup of tea.
"Unlikely but I will check with the Nurse In Charge." I trotted over to the treatment room and ran back to the phone in a hail of bad language and shouts of "Not on your life!!!" Deep breath Raven.
"Best you rest for a week and let someone else walk the pooch." I hate to be the bearer of bad news and was trying to be friendly, and the devil in me had to ask "What kind of dog is it?"
"It's a German Shepherd and needs three miles a day. If I don't walk him soon he's going to eat the sofa." Lucky for me Pomello was sitting close by and reading the riot act thus saved the patient from a more painful conversation with the surgeon in two weeks' time.
You may think I'm mocking the afflicted but far from it; I'm empathising. As the ungrateful recipient of a 5th lumbar injury during a Kung Fu demonstration somewhere around my 20th birthday, I would have walked to Mars if that had stopped the pain. It didn't; neither did chiropractic or several osteopaths. It also put a massive crimp in my ambitions to follow Bruce Lee along the path to the nearest Shaolin Temple, or to wear decent heels for the next decade. Still, I wear heels now and was rocking the night away at a Hen Party later on Saturday evening but obviously don't have to same stamina for it as I did in my 20's. I also have a very low threshold when it comes to disco-cocktail bars with bouncers on the door and had found myself in a classic example of the genre about 11.30; well past my nesting time. The entire crowd were like a massive conga line, snaking in the door, bumping & grinding along where the seats were, stopping off at the square metre of disco space and hustling forward slowly towards the bar to be fleeced for a load of coloured ice with vodka. And all the girls looked the same - flesh coloured dresses and weird, matted hair. I save that look for early mornings but what do I know? One of our number, Pineapple, has flaming ruby hair and in a skin tight frock of the same hue, she always draws a crowd of onlookers and one particular ape in the jungle had put half coconut shells down his shirt in a last desperate attempt to attract her attention. It might have worked had the shells enhanced his already ample moobs but it created more a vision of King Louie from The Jungle Book singing 'I'm the King of the Swingers.' His mates and the cocktail staff were all in Hawaiian shirts and it just compounded the picture of jungle mayhem; if only the fake Easter Island stone heads had started to sing we could have had another Disney classic.
When I was ready for a brandy & horlicks, I offered to help Malone stagger up the hill to the meeting point with her chauffeur but, in her condition, it was only a matter of time before she fell down a drain cover. Still, when we'd made it to the top she slurred,
"Bettr wet here. No late. Be here in mnut." Her lips had turned rubbery when the cold air hit them.
"I'm not standing on the corner propping you up like this."
"Whynot?" Because we looked like the two oldest slappers in town, and she was in a fringed dress that was blowing in the wind like a 1950's lampshade. Thankfully, the Audi turned up and all I heard through her husband's gales of laughter was
"She's such a lightweight." Me too.
I digress because I've not mentioned the Bride to Be who, being from Eastern Europe, is game for a laugh with all the tinsel, flashing badges, durex and head gear she was forced to wear during the meal. At least we didn't chain her to a lamp-post even though she begged us to for the photographs she's sending home to her Mum. She is also a brilliant keeper of secrets at work, in a place where everyone knows everyone's business. For reasons I'm keeping under wraps for the time being, I want to expand my typing skillbase to include the MRI and CT scanning clinics and had secretly volunteered to do a trial session recently. In charge of the department is the lovely Mandarin, who promised we could keep it to ourselves just in case I made a right fool of myself. As it turned out, I didn't do too badly with the Asian consultant's dictation and was looking forward to hearing the results. It was only seconds before Mandarin started laughing and called others into the room. They also looked at me and had a hearty laugh before patting me on the shoulder saying
"Brilliant. The best laugh we've had for months Raven. You can come again."
"It looks okay, what've I done??" More laughter until Mandarin put me out of my misery.
"DrB doesn't ever describe the CT scanning technique as "looking good"."
"I'm not going deaf ... that's what he said." And so she played it back to me.
"Routine protocol." Crystal clear. Oh the pain of humiliation.
"Rubbish. I know what I heard!" And after several offers to put my head in the scanner, I departed with my beak down at my belly button and bumped into the Bride to Be, who chirped
"So now you work here too??" Big smile.
"No! NO! You mustn't tell anyone. I've only done a quick trial." She wasn't convinced.
"You'd be really good. All that medical stuff and jargon. What's the secret?"
"I just don't want it to look like I'm scouting for jobs." She didn't understand. She also didn't understand why we'd kept her Hen Party doings a secret either. Where she hails from, the whole town turns up, they all get riotously drunk into the night and no-one gets chained to a lamp post. Pity!
Tip of the Blog: I've had a few issues with the bloke in the nest over the road. Nothing personal but his ancient [vintage] Fiesta blows black soot out of the exhaust and all over the bonnet of my car; usually after it's been fastidiously valeted by Alphonse. Yes it wipes off but that's not the point because he always parks the heap too close and makes sure he revs the engine before roaring off, thus showing incredible maturity and not overcompensating in the slightest. One particularly sleepless night last week, I resolved to have it out with him. Ten minutes later, there was a lot of shouting and a loud bang outside which catapulted me into the upright position and was soon standing, staring out of the window. The Fiesta in question and a BMW had had a coming together in the dark resulting in much wreckage of the front bumper. I believe the Beemer had a titchy scratch which polished out the following day. As Harry Potter would say "Mischief managed."
Raven
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