On the 16th of July (regular readers will recall) my surgeon's secretary (I call him "my" - I've never met him, and the way things seem to be working I never will) told me that due to various exigencies, happenings, planetary occlusions, acts of God, thermal gradients, and a lack of tomato sauce, I should assume I would get "seen to" (not in the tom-cat sense) on August 9th. This was just her guess really, I mean I heard her sacrifice the cockerel, but possibly that was just a sound-effect, or maybe she is an excellent mimic. Anyway, I held myself in patience, and with firm resolve and undying (I hope) optimism, refrained from bothering her further.
Today, being about ten days before the day suggested, I determined to ring her again. She knows who I am - no need to explain. This gives one some confidence, or perhaps now I might say it gives someone confidence, but not me, for much longer. "Oh, Mr Lawton" she says, for we are on second-name terms, "Mr Peach has just come back from his holidays" (I refrain from groaning "What, again????" ) "and is in a meeting. When he comes out we'll be sorting it out, and I'll ring you back.".
Ah the efficiency, the sense of quiet expectation, and of dates soon firmly to be fixed. Filled with confidence, we set off for a pleasant day out, never leaving sight of a friendly Orange antenna, and expecting, in the Industrial museum, walking by the canal, drinking tea in the pleasant tea room, and even later while sprucing up the kitchen paintwork, to hear the jolly chime of my mobile phone.
But can it be? Look. It's 17:01. There will be no call today. And it's Friday. So my life remains suspended once again over the abyss of unknowing.
I am however a Zen practitioner of the highest order. Because of years of practice, and a degree of self awareness not experienced by most of humanity, I am able to gain relief from this trial in the following way:-
"AAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHHH - FUCKING HELL" ....
Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
