The Demise of Roland Ratso: Chapter one hundred and six

Friday 17th and I have got the oncologists at 10.50 am. I have a cunning plan because I have got to get some euros for our trip to Bruges along with some insect repellant in case. I don’t seem to get bitten, touch wood. My father was not demobbed for six months after the war because he had been in Burma and had not reported sick at all and never had been bitten by any of the bugs. They kept him behind and made him sleep with all sorts of creepy crawlies in an attempt to find out why he never got bitten. Whatever is in his genetic make up – I think that I have got the same. My brother, on the other hand, seems to get flayed alive by the little blighters. Anyway my cunnig plan is to get the bus to Nottingham, get the tram to Wilko Street and then get the medilink to the hospital. Why the change, I hear you asking, from taking the car straight to Wilko Street. This is the cunning bit. On the way back I can get the tram to Nottingham City Centre and get my euros and my shopping. Cunning, or what? I arrived at the clinic ten minutes early and booked in. Another miserable lot today so I just sat and squinted at the magazines. After ten minutes I get called into the consulting room. It’s not the head honcho but one of his assistants who thanks me for coming (!) as if I have a choice, and then asks me how I am followed by when did I have my last blood test. I tell her that I am fine but I was told that I didn’t need anymore blood tests. She says that’s fine and then asks when my surgery date is. “Don’t know,” is my response. I have been being told for six months that my consultant will be in touch. Well he hasn’t. The doctor says that I need a date and she goes off to ring the surgeon. Finally she comes back and says that my cancer nurse will be in touch. And that was it. I was given the usual referral chit and went to the desk where the receptionist told me that no further appointments are necessary. I walk away feeling somewhat deflated. I know I didn’t expect a brass band or fireworks but “No further appointments required” was a bit of an anticlimax. Don’t get me wrong, I am truly glad to be out of it. So I waddle off for the medilink and there is chaos at the bus stop. There is a lady with a collapsible clother rack with about thirty garments on it. There is also a man in a wheelchair trying to get off the bus and a woman with a push chair trying to get on the bus. The lady with the clothes rack is trying to fold her rack up having removed the clothes but she has no room as she is stuck between the wheelchair and the push chair. The driver tries to get out of his cab but he is incarcerated and no-one can get on or off the bus. After several mintes sanity is regained. The clothes rack is folded, the wheelchair is off and the pushchair is on. The woman with the pushchair gets off at the next stop! The clothes lady is not impressed. “She could have bloody walked” she mutters. Then it’s back to the tram at Wilko Street. The tram is packed and I am sat opposite a black woman who is on the phone discussing one of her work colleagues. Then a little old man gets on and she shouts “Uncle! Uncle!” Uncles looks a real character and he sits next to her and opens his wallet and gives her ten pounds. The woman tries to give it back. “I am thirty two, uncle, I don’t need it.” she says. “You take it my girl, and have a good night out on it.” The woman is greatly amused that her uncle thinks she can get a night out for a tenner. I get off the tram at the market square (the largest in Europe apparently because it was a major trading area between the Saxons and the Normans – a bit before my time.) There is six hundred tonnes of silver sand that has been dumped ready for “Nottingham by the sea.” There is a small food market selling bison burgers, crocodile and ostrich. It smells delicious and there is a chocolate stall selling Belgian chocolates which reminds me that we have to get Eleanor some chocolates in Bruges. I waddle down a bit further and go into a Euro shop and get my money changed and then off to get a battery in Irene’s watch without any problems whatsoever. Then off to Boots the chemist to get some anti midgy stuff and finally into Wilko’s to get a cool bag for our sandwiches on the journey. I finally stop off at the Cosy Little Teapot café and get a full breakfast. I have to say the whole thing looked very nice but everyhting tasted the same – even the mushrooms. Unfortunately the baked beans dive bombed my shirt which was very annoying as I was trying really hard not get any canteen medals. Standing outside waiting for the bus and a drunk Scotsman staggers up and asks me if I haven’t got any change. I tell him I haven’t and he lets loose with a torrent of abuse. Not as bad as when I was in Glasgow at the TUC conference years ago. We were walking down the street and there was a gang of about four men sat in a doorway drinking Tenants superlager. One of the stood up and shouted “ Hey, English!” I relied “What do you want?” “How long have you been in Glasgow.” “About four hours” I reply. “Have ye been mugged yet?” “ No” I responded fearing the worst. “Well can ye come back at about four o’clock coz we are a bit busy at the moment!” Another time and a drunk in Glasgow came staggering up and shouts “Give us quid!” I asked him what he wanted a pound for and his response was “Whit I do with MY money is MY business.” I had to give him some money for his cheek. Then while we were waiting to into the conference there were two men in a trench outside the hall. There were hundreds waiting to go in and lots of people milling about watching the two men in the trench. At nine in the morning, a drunk staggered up the road and went into an off licence and came out with a can of superlager which he drank straight down. He then staggered over to the two men in the trench and urinated over them running off with the biggest grin I have ever seen on anyone’s face – that was until the workmen caught him. When I got home Irene told me that the hospital phoned and I have got my pre op consultation on the 10th August and they are sawing me in half on the 21st, all being well. ___________________________________________________________