Glorious day

Yesterday was such a glorious moment: blue sky, a light breeze, smiling people. I even managed to take the camera out for a little spin; after the flatmate's inner ear required the attention of a doctor.

Living in one of the noisiest parts of town, you get used to inserting earplugs on a nightly basis. But on this occasion, it would seem the plug insertion was carried out a little bit too forcefully. Personally I put it down to a simple case of the flatmate overstressing the body the week before. 

The options were:

1. going to the local gp as emergency and waiting nearly four hours to get seen, or
2. trying out the nhs walk-in clinic tucked away just off the main road in victoria. 

Luckily there's a direct bus (which on this occasion looked as if it hadn't been cleaned since it was introduced) route.  Twenty minutes later we walked in to a practically deserted, modern, clean, fresh smelling reception, with (and this caused a little stumble) an actual smiling receptionist; who took down the details and said the flatmate should be seen in about 15 minutes. It took ten. Ten minutes on the NHS to walk-in and be seen. People came, people left and the doctors and nurses quietly, efficiently, went about their duties.

Even heard one person upon leaving, congratulating the receptionist, "I didn't know you were here, but I'll be using you in future."

And there's the rub.

It's currently good, efficient, with a relaxing - almost healing - atmosphere because it's not stretched to capacity. Once that happens, it will end up like any other gp's surgery. Everyone bad tempered, cursing the day they set foot in, and with a two week plus waiting list.

But the pictures. Not of the surgery but of a couple of other lines that caught my eye...

         

Which ended in a glorious moon...

Sports icons

So, another English (admittedly by affiliation) potential sports icon has suffered the dreaded English malaise of landing on his rear, after been dumped out of the first round of tennis Aussie Open by the number nine, France's Jo-Wilfried Tsonga. Clips of which can be seen here, from the BBC website.

What's left? Who is left? Which home grown bit of talent will step up to the mark and bring back a resurgent period of sporting glory, to this once glorious archipelago?

The English Football team? Soon to be managed by an Italian and look as much a winning team, as an old nag winning the Grand National, by ten lengths.

Fencing champion Richard Kruse? Coached by three times Polish foil champion Ziemek Wojiechowski and Britain's national coach for several years currently over in Poland. As for Rugby and Cricket... they might as well not bother leaving the dressing room, except to hand the other team the trophy.

So what is left? Formula-1? let's hope Lewis Hamilton can pull it out this year. Or failing that, there's always the World Singles or World Pairs of the World Tiddly Winks Championships?

Waking daises twenty-four seven.

Waking up and listening to the Radio Four's Today programme is one of the few pleasures I have remaining in life. Which, without much effort on the part of Messers Humphrys, Montague, Naughtie, Quinn and Stourton, always brings me to the brink of over brimming.

Its strengths lay in its contented fuddy-duddy dusty old slippers role one minute, to whip-crackling firebrand-politician-beating-outrider the next, and I wouldn't want it any other way!

So where's the moan. Well, even I start to yawn when that favourite old chestnut of the home-counties (incorrect grammar), as opposed to that other chestnut of immigration, is brought into play due to the lack of anything else more news worthy. Even it it does bring a lighter air to proceedings. If I really want to know whether a diphthong's more classy than a pure thong, I'll consult the online or real life oracle and come to an appropriate decision. For those of us with diminished and diminishing memory sticks, its far better putting them to use remembering when that last pint was consumed or, even more importantly, when its time for that next meal!

For those who were up at the crack of lunch time, they'd have been greeted to the sights of hoary-frosted bearded clouds lazily meandering across clearing horizons, sadly this would be over powered by the increasing level of vehicle exhaust slipperely working in concert, with the growing levels of sunlight tethered smog! So why not move and stop moaning? That's all well and good, but the draw of a 24hr shop nearby, a tube station that is only five minutes walk, buses - for every destination - within three minutes walk, a cinema, bars, good restaurants, a fully functioning market, even a M&S (no don't work for, have anything to do, or receive any vouchers from them) on the doorstep, I can put up with the probable life-shortening experience I'm going through, for at least one or two more years. But then, there'll be that nice little cottage in the country - or some other country – miles away from anywhere or anyone...

Maybe I'll just buy some sturdy earplugs!