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I got talking to the lapdancer I liked, all of thirty-eight… and, she’d understood why I’d been there and, how I feel ‘bout relationships.

“Quel surpise. Another who couldn't appreciate what he had,” I had told CJ, after reading her. [she'd had one an all]

She'd said I was a good 'first customer.' Well, no kid, she was well paid...

That’d been after hospital on my birthday…

I went shopping at Azda [Walmat] on Wednesday and was dead stoked to see such fine looking ladies dressed to kill... and three got to me.. of a very diverse age-range.

Much later, I sat writing late on unsure bout later/the next day, as I’d eaten an omelette, fish and veg.

I sat and wrote and mused on stuff, as I do.

On Saturday I got an appointment to see Mr Webb, based at Broadgreen, the fellow who sorted out my face. I’d recalled him saying he’d see me again, if needed. So I’d written to him, telling him I needed help, and I didn’t want to keep taking antibiotics. Well his secretary phoned me and told me that my doctor would have to contact him. She did. And, just Saturday I got an appointment for December the 28th.

That is all a hell of a contrast to how I’ve been treated by the pancreas team, at the Liverpool royal, or should I say… not treated.

I’d been referred to them just under a year ago. Now, after finally contacting my doctors, they tell them… he has to go for another scan… as it’s nearly been over twelve months. Well, I’d lost it at that… as my waiting, is simply due to them… and, I do dislike the womb machine… the scanner. Besides which, this time they’d suggested it might be a cyst on my pancreas… previously it was a tear, or a fissure. Like how would they know, they have not monitored me, as my report says I needed.

And, the machine in the backroom – the one with all the software onnit I like to play with – it’s using XP and, it isn’t supported by many now, like the antivirus software that I’d used onnit. So, on days I’d rather have stayed in bed, I was in the back room, trying to sort out a seemingly impossible situation. But then, I found a couple of somethings – one being Panda Security, which is free to use, after a lot of hassle. For instance, to use it I needed my Microsoft.Net something or other updated and, as I’d perused the problems the next day, it tickled me to think I’d had to update my net, to access software based in the cloud… so I needed a net, to catch a cloud…

Anyway, the letter from the titheads arrived, on a Saturday needless to say… so I’d the weekend to dwell onnit and get more anxious ‘bout the fact that them giving me an appointment for a scan at 9.50 at a Spire hospital I don’t know infers a lack of reading abilities on whoever read my notes, or chose not to read the bit where it says… ‘doesn’t do mornings, due to illnesses.’

Although Dad’s getting out and about on the bike, which I think is thoroughly awesome of him, I do the shopping. Firstly I get what I want and, we need and secondly, I do tend to get it done faster on my own… and truth be told, since much of the coin I’m getting is for travel, that’s what I use it for, getting a taxi to and from the Azda with my bags full of necessaries. And, the other week I got a female driver. That’d been cool. She’d been as good a driver as any I’ve known and, when it came to unloading the boot, she’d given me a hand, which one or two male drivers won’t do.



And essentially, after housework, that’d been what I got up to on Thursday, the shopping: and the thing was, the main reason for the shop was the same as the week prior, my Dad’s need for oat biscuits… only Azda do ‘em and, I’m sure he’s addicted. Like he has one with his cup of tea after a meal and, he has one with his afternoon drink and, he’ll one with his morning drink, if he has one that is.



The oat biscuits, Garibaldi’s and his cranberries were my main cause for the shop, as I’d got many of the essentials through the week, knowing full well that I’d got plans for the Friday, which incidentally is when we used to shop. That changed, just the other week, when Dad had run out of biscuits and, had been so annoying in the many remarks he’d made about his need, he’d ended up with several of my reserve packets, set aside, for just such an occasion.



Then on the Friday I arose as late as possible, getting dressed at the last minute, before going out the first time, to pick up Dad’s prescription from the doctor’s, knowing full well where I’d be at 5:15



And, as it was sunny, I’d enjoyed the walk, even though I do go slower now, yet I did get all done that I wanted, in time to get home and make Dad’s tea. Once done, it had been off out again and, back to the doctor’s, to have needle in my thumb.



“He’s running late,” I’d been told at reception, so sat to wait, chatting occasionally to a fella before me, who was responding simply for something to do, as it was obvious he was cheesed off waiting. And, he knew about appointment times and I’d noticed the young lady on her phone, when it says on a poster not to use them.



Eventually, the young woman’s name appeared on the board, but she’d been so engrossed in her conversation she hadn’t noticed. That had led to the doctor making an appearance himself, to come get her… Well, that had been noticed by both of us.



“Do you think when she comes out she’ll have stigmata on her hand?” I had said, adding, “After she’s had the phone amputated…”



Well, when my turn came to see the doctor, I’d cracked the same aside, to be told by him, “I couldn’t possibly comment.”



I’d smiled at that, knowing full well that he’d say that. I’d just been rambling really and, I’d continued to do so, as he unpacked a needle from its sterile pack.



“Where do you want it?” He’d asked.



Well, I’d known where the needle was going, so had to think. It’d been then I’d noticed him illustrate the couch type bed thing, “Or, where you’re sitting?”



I’d been comfortable where I’d sat so said so and placed my hand in a suitable position on his desk. That’s when he’d asked me more about my symptoms and asked, “Can I use pen?”



He had used a biro, to mark out the best place for a needle to go, to inject the steroid, then finding his mark, he’d inserted the needle.



Once he’d finished, the doctor had told me it hadn’t gone in as it should have and, “Do you mind if I have another go?”



“Not at all,” I’d replied, placing my hand in a kinda camp, limp position, which I’d supported. This had given him more room to work, as the move I’d made had opened up the joint and, this time the injection had worked fine.



When I got home I’d been more than a tad tired, with my mind ever-so wired. And, it as I’d watched the news with Dad, mild interest had turned to wry amusement as I’d seen the item on the steampunk’s arriving at Morecambe for the weekend, wondering if my friends Janet and John might be there, as it’d be near them and something that they’re into… and, thinking that, I couldn’t help but wonder at the photographs John might take…



I did without solids a few days, so as to have a ‘proper’ Sunday with Dad. And, though the weather was frigid and blustery I still got out for awhile and did some gardening... and smiled as I worked away: a rare thing; but, it happens.

And, I’d even got some writing done this Sunday morning, and that was good…