When your day to day life is not, shall we say, amazingly exciting, then even a small drama can turn into great entertainment.
morning we had an emergency appointment for poor Mr B with the special care dentist. He had been suffering for three days with an increasingly painful mouth which was keeping us both up at nights and making daytimes somewhat fraught. I didn’t hold out
too much hope that the dentist could wave a magic wand but at least yesterday I had been able to book the Dial-a-Ride wheelchair accessible bus to transport us both to the clinic and home again. I know, I know, what’s so difficult about that, you query,
but somehow it seemed so to me - especially as I wasn’t even sure the transport office hadn’t closed for the day when I phoned. I was triumphant when (i) I wasn’t greeted by the answerphone; and (ii) I booked us in for the next day with a
minimum of fuss and bother.
Come today, my triumphant feelings had faded overnight. Would our transport turn up on time? Would the dentist be able to sort out
Mr B? In the nicest possible way, you understand. Most of all, how unfair it was that my longed-for visit by the Youngest of the Darling Daughters had been hi-jacked by a Toothy Emergency. My daughter reassured me that it was when the stress was at its highest
that her presence was the most helpful. I couldn’t argue with that...
So far, so well and good, you are thinking - but hadn’t I promised a bit of drama?
Patience is a virtue, my dear mum used to say. Listen up!
The Dial-a-Ride driver turned up right on time. He was driving a rather splendid new bus, emblazoned
with the logo of a different organisation but I recognised him as one of our regulars in those pre-Covid days when we actually enjoyed weekly outings. As he was launching Mr B in his wheelchair down the doorstep ramps, along the garden path, through the gate
and up into the bus, he regaled us with a long story about the floor of his usual bus which had developed some humps and bumps. Unfortunately (or possibly not) I didn’t hear the whole sorry tale as I was busy making sure that the Youngest of the Darling
Daughters (who was shopping for us while we were away) had a shopping list and the keys to the door.
Mr B’s wheelchair was anchored in place and I
was fiddling with my seat belt, when a figure dressed in the Dial-a-Ride polo shirt appeared in the doorway. What the hell, he enquired, was going on?
asked why Driver 2 needed to know and what he was doing there anyway. Driver 2 said he had been booked to transport us to and from the dentist. Driver 1 said same here (or words to that effect.) Driver 2 asked Driver 1 if he had our details listed on his booking
sheet. Driver 1 admitted he didn’t have a booking sheet but that he had been contacted by Her In The Office and asked to attend our house. Driver 2 said he had been asked the previous day to fulfil the booking and he had the sheet to prove it. Driver
1 said (and personally I felt that this was the clincher) that as Mr B and I were already in situ and ready to roll (quite literally, the bus does tend to take corners with a certain enthusiasm) it seemed sensible that he should proceed to transport us, rather
than unload us only to load us up in Driver 2’s bus. So it was, with Driver 1 and Driver 2 eventually agreeing that, when it came down to it, the blame lay firmly at the door of Her In The Office. I wouldn’t be in her shoes when they came to report
After all that excitement, everything went surprisingly well. The dentist investigated Mr B’s poorly mouth and said she could see exactly what
the problem was. After treatment we were despatched with a prescription for antibiotics and some mouth-wash which she conceded tasted foul but might help soothe the sore mouth while it healed. I’m not generally in favour of Pills for Everything but after
a few sleepless nights it was a great comfort to leave the dental surgery clutching a prescription.
Driver 1 took us home (Driver 2 was nowhere to be seen,
possibly nursing his wounded pride and sulking over his booking sheet) where the Youngest of the Darling Daughters was waiting to carry me off for a delicious lunch out while the Lovely Kay kept Mr B company for an hour or so. My weekly “me-time”
was saved! All was well that ended well. Mr B’s poorly mouth is hopefully on the mend, my daughter and I chatted non-stop over our leek and potato soup - and Kay found time to clean the upstairs windows and descale the kettle in between keeping Mr B
supplied with glasses of “nice, cold milk.” Driver 1 is doubtless pleased that he helped us in our hour of need.
I have no idea what Driver 2 would
have to say about it...