Armistice Day in Cressroads as some remember to forgive. Or not?
Armistice Day 2010
NEWS FLASH! Lovely Renate Kraus on the volcanic Canary Isle of Tenerife ‘phones the Lower House of Windsor’s Word Factory to invite Ambassador for the Disabled Ross Smith, his Polish-born carer and Cressroads’ town hack Blogsbody to enjoy a winter break seeing in New Year 2011 at renowned, purpose-built Mar-y-Sol, popular spa for the disabled and managed by Renate in the year-round sunshine of Spain’s ocean island resort of Los Cristianos.
And that, Birthday Girl, leaves only the first half-dozen days of Yuletide yet to reconcile,
After your Poppa Mike places an order for a traditionally decorated, well -liquored, marzipanned and iced fruit cake from the kitchen of the Arms of Tichborne earlier today, and wonders what plans Richard and yourself have finalized for the festive time?
Within the next month, Cressroads Surgery will have run two further blood tests, after agreeing that your father’s popping of more than a million milligrams of Glucosamine Chondroitin over the past 24 months proves itself to be of benefit only to the financial coffers of assorted manufacturers of a waste of alleged alternative medicine for lubricating the creaking joints of millions of pensioners relieved of upwards of £7.59 every 40 days for their imagined nutritional supplement.
And so thanks a bunch to moonlighting, truly golden hands Doc Green.
Now helped to survive an early retirement with spoils earned from his out-of-surgery hours spent administering physiotherapy to billionaire Russian-owned Chelsea FC, between dismissing the cause of your father’s developing aches and pains as the consequence of ‘too many birthdays’.
Maligned old ticker
Meanwhile, the jury remains out on the wisdom of Cressroads’ town hack continuing to risk aching muscles, cataracts, renal failure, more strokes and heart attacks by popping a 20-mg, film-coated pink Simvastatin tab for his cholesterol, before going to his bed each night.
Yes, Keeks, all these years after a mini-stroke saw my jaw drop for a few days and longer for the dribble to dry up, Dr Beanstokes, did-he-but-know-it , agreed with your adopted Aunty Jean’s years of nursing experience and realized his need to book me in for a much overdue electrocardiogram.
Then as relieved as any patient to learn, no harm done, after Cressroads’ Nurse Lindsay pronounced soulless Blogsbody’s maligned old ticker to be in A1 order for its septuagenarian vintage.
It is in the spirit of Armistice Day that Blogsbody has made peace with the town’s general practice and it with him. Each prepared to accept the other’s shortcomings and goings on at Cressroads’ Station Road Surgery in the self-styled watercress capital of the world. And hear thee, hear thee, daughter - believe it, or believe it not - all with the passing of Prizebyte’s corporate threat to end its pro bona months of hosting the website for the Continuing Story of Cressroads.
After a 48-hour stay of execution for www.blogsbody.co.uk Firkin Henry poked his head around the door of the Arms of Tichborne - never fully recovered from your days of managing the Hogshire village boozer for ex-Concorde flight attendant Janie Day - and witnessed a shaking of the hands between long-suffering host and silver-haired hack given a ‘deadline’ of seven more months to complete all copy for a first-edition of a little-earner in support of young Ross Smith’s registered charity for the disabled Just Different.
Coarse pay-off between patients-in-waiting
Monday early evening’s meeting at the Arms ended with a repeat of the continuing tale of your older brother Matthew’s birth in the 1976 International Year of the Child that was resurrected for all to share in the waiting-room of Cressroads surgery three day ago.
Picture, Keogh, the silent, miserable scene disturbed by your father’s entrance as he spots the town’s retired, Belfast-born pharmacist Robin Good next in line to be seen by Doc Beanstokes.
“You bad, robbin’ chemist, you … ”
” … and no, Michael, they still don’t have your good lady’s size in stock.”
After our remembering in non-dulcet tones the detail of a Saturday morning when, home from the county hospital maternity unit in Winchester, your mother of a child bride despatched her gallant middle-aged husband to Robin’s pharmacy in Alresford-on-Arle for his first ever purchase of ST’s.
And, sadly, with your father knowing no better than to call out for sanitary towels with all of their vowels, before making matters worse for a pharmacy up to its shampoo in Saturday morning blue-rinsers: “Size! After watching all that’s gone down this week, one can only reckon his miserable missus is desperate for the largest you stock.”
“Next, please,” a not-so-amused Dr Beanstokes put his head around the waiting-room door in time to not help but catch the coarse good-bye laughter between two of his pensioned patients-in-waiting.
To be continued
