I can make an adventure out of a trip to big Tesco.
Will try to do better on the photo front this time. Might even bring back a photo of Christs Pieces - a part of Cambridge that always make me snort slightly. Or at least it did until I saw it three times while hopelessly lost, looking for my bus-stop. Less funny then.
That's the trouble with old, picturesque cities; the situation of their signage leaves a lot to be desired. And I'd like to strangle the person who created the various maps I consulted. The
You Are Here circles were pretty much as big as a building and gave no insight into which way you might be facing. Add no street signs to that and you go on a tour of Christs Pieces once again.
I'm not sure there is any
really good news at this point. Just that some could be worse than others.
And in truth, the damage is done. I've never been one to avoid appointments or tests for fear of results. This has already happened and I'd rather have a grasp on it.
Mum is crazy-mad to organise my packing.
She doesn't want me to feel out of place on the ward.
When she went for her lumpectomy, all the other women had lovely bedclothes and dressing gowns and slippers. They had make-up kits and body wash and sprays.
I know I put my slap on, on the odd occasion I go out, but I don't really roll like that.
She has also advised me that I won't be able to walk barefoot on a ward.
Apparently I might catch AIDs that way (I think she means HIV) like a nun somewhere.
She was slightly mollified by the fact I do have slippers... somewhere.
I know she is doing this because she cares and I love her for it. But it is a tiny little bit wearing, knowing this might go on for the next 9 days
I'll be a cross between Doris Day and Grace Kelly by the time I get to that ward. And the rest of the inmates will be creatures out of Shameless, because I'm guessing it's a dipso ward (self deprecation, not real snobbery.)