Post 283: oh happy day…
My smile is wide even through the frustration and enormous cost, but the end is so worth it.
Don’t stop me now, I’m having such a good time — I’m having a ball.
Only the bank manager was having a bad day today.
———
First, the call from the underwriters at insurewith did what they said and rang between 8–10am, and after even more historical notes of my cancer he said,
“I’ve got enough, thanks Mr U.”
Then,
“I will now send these notes off and you will hear back, whether we’ve accepted you or not, by email in up to 24 hours.”
Oh bloody hell, this is bloody torture.
Why me?
Anyway, I didn’t have much time to think about it because my Darling shouted up from downstairs, where a happy cat was sleeping off his breakfast on the dining/kitchen chair, “Do you know what the time is? You’d better get ready soon or you’ll be late.”
I shouted back, “I’m up and just going for a shower,” which I did.
I’ll say here and now that I’m slightly scared of the shower. It’s that I might slip and fall on my bum, but also that if I do fall even once I’ll be demoted to being assisted while I shower — and I don’t want that, even if it is my Darling.
It’s embarrassment and pride that are the great drivers of this worry, but it’s a real issue for later on.
Talking of drivers, as we were driving into town for my appointment with an eye specialist in Boots (other footwear is available), I said to my Darling that my neck is really coming on and I’ve recovered loads of movement as I shook my head way too ambitiously, causing some pain — but enough movement that I quite fancy a drive now.
She replied happily that I have and should, as she parked up in pole position in the shopping centre car park.
Ace.
Little things please me so much these days. The very best spot in the whole car park. Wow!
So I’m in the room at the back of the opticians doing my thing, reciting a dyslexic alphabet, and to my surprise all was perfectly fine. At least something is right on this body of mine. Hurrah!
It took the best part of an hour for the whole visit, but during it I was rung by the fairly relaxed travel agent hoping for good news about the insurance. Sadly I told her it could be another day before we know. At least the price was the same for our package.
So I paid for the new film-star-look glasses I chose, realising that glamour comes at a price, and I looked away when I did the card-machine bit, when the sales assistant was the only one smiling that I could see. Daylight robbery, some would say (I would say too).
“They’ll be ready in 12 days normally, we’ll give you a ring, OK.”
And with that we were off to the pharmacy.
The life I lead, I tell ya — it’s scarily wonderful, in a very boring way.
Who knew? I was in with the pharmacist when only half of what I hoped for was dispensed. I asked the usual question, “Is there anything else please, thanks, if you’ve time, thanks, please?”
Well, you know what it’s like if you anger one of those white-coated ladies behind the glass screen…
Tremble tremble.
She eventually replied, as the queue behind me got longer and longer and by then my embarrassment — and the heater blowing hot air on my back — allowed me to take off my gloves, scarf and gilet,
“Sit down love, we’ve got your stuff, it’ll be a few minutes.”
“Next.”
There you go, a bit of soft soaping and she’s putty in my hands.
I shuffled away to the chair in the corner of the shop, just in sight and hearing distance of the white-coated ladies’ roar, feeling more like a naughty schoolboy than a patient patient. That feeling of being told off caused a few more cold sweats, I can tell you.
Anyway, my Darling — who had been to Iceland and back (no, not that one; the one that sells frozen pancakes with low fat or something) — she sat beside her lovely dunce in the corner of the room and asked for an explanation for my red face and embarrassed look. But as luck had it, “Mr U… Mr U,” was called, and after a bit of searching for my driving licence for identity checks on the opioids I had received, we gleefully departed.
On the way back to the car, with only one interest on my mind — getting home for a cuppa — my watch was buzzing like a bee with digital activity that could be that email I wanted, or it could be the bank asking me if I had been hacked — given the cost of one pair of glasses.
So I had to check, due to the avid interest of my Darling, and lo, there was an email from those people about insurance. And what a reply.
Yes, we can insure you on our platinum plan. Great stuff.
But for the nine nights it will cost £410 of your finest quidlets.
“Gosh that’s cheap” was a phrase that wasn’t uttered by either of us, but what could we do?
The cuppa had to wait while we headed back to the shops and that new travel agency that also wants my wallet opened and relieved of another huge pile of my finest quidlets — but this time it was for a trip to Spain. Let’s book that holiday and be quick about it.
We sat down in the warm atmosphere of the shop, that had only opened a few weeks ago, and discussed all the extras we needed to give us the best time without too much agro, even if it came at a price. I’m tall and weakened by the cancer, so roomy seats on the plane and airport assistance were ordered.
Also, the hotel room was not the average room but one with a mahoosive balcony with a splash pool, an outside shower, and room for at least two loungers on its breadth.
What fun we had at the expense of expense — and the lovely assistant, who was a real angel.
We were close to being the first patrons of this new establishment and as we headed for the door after paying for the first ever holiday away from all family my Darling and I have had, we were hauled back with another warm handshake and a bottle of rosé on the house.
We were then told of their Grande opening this Thursday afternoon, which, if we’d like to, we were cordially invited to.
It’s a pity I haven’t got my new glasses, I feel like a celebrity.
We would be silly to miss it, wouldn’t we.
But at last we could get out of our pole position and get that cuppa we so richly deserve — crossed fingers.
For the main, that was it.
Yes, there’s loads of other smaller things to check and organise, but that can wait for another day. Today is a day to glow in the light of excitement for this holiday that was as tricky to get to full term as a baby porcupine.
A very, very happy goodnight tonight.
Good night.
