Tom
Do you enjoy driving in 2013? I used to love driving but big bother and heavy traffic make it more of a chore nowadays
I do enjoy driving Guy, but not for the usual reasons. I think it's an age thing.
I used to get impatient, but I don't anymore. It's pointless anyway. Might as well relax and enjoy the solitude.
Once you stop worrying about actually getting there, driving can be very therapeutic. You can listen to the radio in peace and watch the world go by without the guilt that usually comes with idleness.
The next time you are in slow or even stationary traffic, make an effort to really notice what ever is outside the window. Sometimes the scenery or the architecture is stunning, but even if the only thing to look at is the debris on the hard shoulder, it's still interesting.
Sigh sigh sigh sigh.....
Pin back your lugholes, (Or perhaps I should say eyelids since you're reading instead of listening.) Eat my word post coming....
For the last year or so, I've been attending a pain management clinic at Leicester Royal Infirmary. As with all things of this nature, you have to follow a step by step set of procedures or treatments, each one a little more... and I don't know which word to use here so you pick one, they all fit.
Each one a little more....
Case specific
Elaborate
Invasive
Costly
Effective... ?
Anyway, I've been through all the "Uh hu" *Scribbles on pad* treatments like anti-inflammatory drugs, pain killers, physiotherapy, massage, etc etc. Now it's time to move on to the serious stuff.
As my consultant said while he nonchalantly waved a scalpel during my last appointment, "Next time, we might have to take a proper look."
Anyway, today was "The next time." My appointment was for 15:10 with Dr Tring. I knew this because I have received one reminder text per day for the last three days.
Now the journey from Chez Red to the Leicester Royal Infirmary only takes about half an hour even in heavy traffic, but because I hate to rush and because I hate to be late, I left home at 13:45, thereby allowing myself 55 minutes extra.
Well the traffic was worse than I have ever seen it, and my journey took me almost 40 minutes. Was I worried? Of course not. I still had ~ 45 minutes in hand. I spent my traffic jam time relaxing in my driving seat, listening to Radio 4 and smiling smugly as my face-twitching counterparts in the other cars gnashed their teeth and clenched their steering wheels with murderous hands.
It is impossible to find a space on the car park of the Leicester Royal, but of course I know this and I park on the half-empty Leicester Tigers car park across the way.
Today, for some unknown reason, the Leicester Tigers car park was full. Not only was it full, it had about half a dozen face-twitching teeth-gnashers prowling around it's packed aisles in their unparked cars, squeezing their steering wheels fit to bust.
What did I do? I did nothing. I had 45 minutes in hand. I turned off my engine, turned up my radio, and smiled smugly at the other drivers as I waited patiently for a space to become vacant.
30 minutes later I was safely parked. I walked to the Pay & Display machine, glanced at the back of my hand, and typed in the last three digits of my registration number. Then I inserted £4.90 in change from my pre-loaded man-purse, not forgetting of course to smile smugly at the face twitchers as they dashed back to their cars to scrabble for change and check their registration plates.
At least 10 minutes before the appointed time, I joined the rather long queue at the reception desk, turning occasionally to smile smugly at the large red faced gentleman behind me. Unfortunately he was too busy looking at his watch and gnashing his teeth to notice how calm I was.
When it was my turn I smiled smugly and presented my appointment card to the receptionist.
"I'm sorry" she said, "but the pain management clinic isn't here any longer. It's been moved to the Leicester General Hospital on the other side of town."
"But it can't have" I said.
"Well I'm sorry, but it has."
"Well why wasn't I told?"
"You were Sir, we informed all out patients, in person and again by letter. I remember telling you myself the last time you were here."
As final proof, she turned my appointment card around so that I could see it. There, in bold type was my appointment time followed by a short message. Please note, The pain management clinic has now moved to
Outpatients 4, Leicester General Infirmary. I turned and left the desk. As I did so I noticed that the large gentleman with the red face had stopped looking at his watch and was smiling at me, smugly.
I rang the General to confess my mistake and beg them to extend my appointment. After a short wait they told me that the Consultant had agreed to see me if I could be there within the next 30 minutes.
I assured them that I could make it and headed back to my car.
Every traffic light was red, every street was jammed with badly parked cars as smugly smiling mums standing around chatting to each other as they waited to collected their kids.
Finally, with tyres screeching and face twitching like a bag of mice, I pulled into the car park of the General. Could I find a space? Of course not.
I cruised the aisles, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles went white, and even biting it occasionally.
When I eventually managed to park, I sprinted to the Pay & Display machine like Usain Bolt, then I realised I had no change and sprinted back to my car like Basil Fawlty.
I stood red faced and fidgeting in the queue for the reception desk. Every 30 seconds I glanced at my watch, causing the man in front of me to turn around and smile smugly.
I could have smashed his face in.
"I'm sorry" The receptionist said when I gave her my appointment card. "Dr Tring has left the building. I'll have to re-book you."
"Will August the 24th be OK?"
"August the 24th will be wonderful thank you" I replied through gritted teeth.
On the way home, I leaned back in my drivers seat and turned on the radio.
Bluefin Tuna my arse!
WTF kind of subject is that for a radio programme? That Tom Heap had better watch out, or I'll smash his bloody face in too.
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