i knew it was going to be bad when it took me three attempts to find the door into the hospital that was meant for use between the hours of 8pm and 8am; it was the door with the prominent sign on it, saying: please use other door.

i walked up to a likely looking reception area (in the midst of some building remodeling) and said hi, is this checkin? – one of the two ladies behind the desk smiled and said it depends on where you’re flying to.

i took this person to be the good cop of the feature.

that the other one was the bad cop was proven to me when she asked what it was that was wrong with me, and when i told her that i had dropped a motorcycle on my foot, she replied that was very silly.

challenged thusly, i could not resist responding: yes, that was what i thought at the time. very silly. you know, a thought like that cannot but go through one’s mind, that having dropped one’s own motorcycle on one’s own foot is a very silly thing to have done to one’s self … and i continued somewhat in this vein, until – magically – she spontaneously apologised.

funny how that always happens…

then i had to wait (screaming children, lung-wrenching coughers) for an hour to see a jolly woman who asked me what i had done – again – and whose job, essentially, was to make sure that i really had something wrong, and wasn’t timewasting.

being as i was demonstrably damaged, this process took about 60 seconds, after which i was turfed back into the waiting room. i finished two copies of marie claire (a sort of lightweight version of cosmo) – including the article written for women, by a group of men, about how men view womens’ feelings and needs regarding sex; the only conclusion i could draw from this being that (a) neither sex really truly understands the other in a way that can be usefully portrayed in a mass-media magazine, and (b) the sub-editor was definitely a woman.

i also managed to read my way through about a quarter of neil gaiman’s american gods which i had started after the magazines, desperately trying to read, over the clattering noise of the coke machine’s fan. i briefly considered switching the offending device off or similarly hacking it, but there were too many interested bystanders.

so, after another two hours (screaming children, lung-wrenching coughers, fistfight participants bleeding all over the floor, more coke machine) my name is called and i go for examination. the doctor prods, pokes, bends and twists the foot, and after five minutes pronounces it to be sound and tells me that the only time he’s ever dropped his bike was likewise whilst stopping, this time in front of a pub filled with several dozen of his mates.

elapsed time: meta-wait + eval + wait + checkup = a little under 3hrs. is this good? i dunno, but for some parts of britain it would be miraculous, especially as no money nor paperwork had to change hands.

i sometimes wonder why the company pays for a healthcare scheme for me – and, more importantly, why i get taxed upon it – when i have no idea how to use it and never have an illness of the sort where it’d be useful. either i am bleeding copiously (A&E) or i need antibiotics with no followup (GP).

maybe i need to do more, dangerous hobbies, so that i am getting my money’s worth?

so anyway: home, more ibuprofen, and rest with my feet up. should also help with the sore head from multiple doorposts in jim’s house last night – most of them are less than six feet tall. ouch. bedtime in a mo.

the ikea trip got cancelled anyway (other person == busy++) so i have a week to stay at home and pretend to be a jungle explorer, and machete my way through the weeds.

night night.

ps: have returned to find that the cats, whilst i was away, have taken to sleeping on my pyjamas which were on the bedside table. choices: either (a) they missed the scent of the pride leader, or (b) the evil-minded little sods are trying to make more laundry for me, as penance for abandoning them. i suspect that i shall have to give them the benefit of the doubt on this occasion.