I am in the local chemist's waiting for Mr B's prescription to be processed. Like Captain Oates, I may be some time...
A little lad in a push-chair engages me in conversation
which is a most welcome way of whiling away the time. He shows me how he can thread one hand through a gap in the push-chair hood to meet the other hand. I am all admiration. I can't think of any similar tricks I can play, given that all I have to conjure
with is my bag of shopping. My New Best Friend Forever and I have a kind of conversation about his desire to go to the park. We converse in single words: I ask him what he likes best about the park - "Swing?" "Roundabout?" "Slide?" I mime the action of climbing
up the steps of a slide and whooshing down it and he makes a game effort to copy me. His mother, suddenly catching on, tells him in no uncertain terms that there's no way they are going to the park. I feel quite disappointed on his behalf.
I text the Middle of the Darling Daughters to tell her about my Long Wait. It's something to do, anyway. Three messages ping back almost straightaway. "Poor you! How annoying.." reads one. As does the second and the third message
- my daughter has accidentally sent the same message three times. I text the Youngest of the Darling Daughters with a similar message; she is similarly sympathetic. It's not that either Darling Daughter can actually do anything to address my situation but
a Problem Shared is, as you know, a Problem Halved. Or, presumably, as I have shared it with two daughters, my Problem must be reduced by two-thirds. Can you actually have a Problem Thirded?
There are lots
of cross people also waiting for their prescriptions to be dispensed. I feel sorry for the poor women on the counter who have to keep repeating the sorry mantra that the waiting time is now thirty, now forty, now forty-five minutes. The trouble is, says the
fella sitting next to me (there are only two chairs but I have managed to secure one - lucky me!) once you have been waiting so long, the thought of giving up and coming back later appears less and less sensible. I nod agreement and try to catch the eye of
the pharmacist, putting on my best Patient and Uncomplaining Face in the hope that he might remember just how long I have been sitting here.
By the time Mr B's name is called I have been waiting almost an
hour. On the plus side, I have had several interesting text conversations, brought myself up to date with the exciting activities of all my Facebook friends and mentally composed today's To Do list. Mind you, I've an hour less in which to do everything on
the To Do list which might just be a problem. I wave goodbye to the little lad in the push-chair. He doesn't look all that bothered to see me go.
In the afternoon, Mr B and I visit the local Shopmobility Centre
where we arrange to hire a wheelchair for a Rather Special Forthcoming Event involving a Palace, a Duchess and a 150th Anniversary (of which more in future Daily Blogs.) Ever Helpful Adrian who has swiftly replaced Pushchair Boy in my (fickle) affections,
shows me how to stow the wheelchair efficiently in the boot of my car and lets me practise till I can manage it if not exactly with ease, then with a minimum of difficulty. Practice, as everyone knows, makes, not perfect, then at least Possible.
Back in the centre, Mr B is trying out the Shoprider mobility scooter, a broad smile on his face as he travels round the car park at a stately four miles an hour. Lovely Adrian says he will let us have a free two hour
trial ride next time we visit, bless him. I am already planning a few trips out, I say, mostly involving scooting the length of the prom, prom, prom and stopping for lunch along the way. Mr B tells Adrian that I am Always Thinking of My Stomach. Adrian laughs,
but not unsympathetically. I expect he, too, likes to lunch.
I text the Darling Daughters to tell them about our successful visit. Just before I hit the "send" button, I realise that I have fallen victim,
once again, to the Curse of Predictive Text. My message reads:
"Dad seems really taken with the Shoplifter Mobility Scooter."
I shall have to keep a very
close eye on that Man Of Mine...