Miserable morning, damp and cold with a bit of a wind out there as well, the tops of the tree's in the gap are swaying at a good pace, only the first ridge can be seen due to the almost complete murky grey canvas behind. At least no windmills in sight, sitting over there producing enough energy to keep my doorbell alive. The owner of Eyebrow Cottage is in for a shock, two of her tyres are flat this morning, I will try and catch her later to let her know, the house next door is showing no signs of being bought.
I have had several brushes with the medical world this week, my op was cancelled and is now set for mid April at Lancaster, not a hospital which would be my first choice, but it is time to get the elbow sorted. I have also made my interest known in being a Warton Responder for the de-fibrillator which is being set up in the village, although by the time I get a call, run down to the Church Hall, and make my way to the victim, I would probably need the damn thing myself. Our local surgery now has a 'triage' system you have to navigate to see a doctor (I couldn't pick mine out of a police line up), which basically means you will see someone in two weeks unless you wander in holding your head in your lap. When I was a lad, if you were ill you went to the doctor's, no receptionist, you sat until you were called in, Eric Paterson, a lovely man, then smiled, gave you something which tasted horrible and in a week you were fine. He or his partner, around whom everyone was wary, he was a prisoner of the Japanese you see, would also turn up at your bedside at any time of the day or night should they be required, and Eric at least was still smiling. Two doctors who alone ministered to a whole town, now we here have two surgeries, god knows how many doctors and you can't see one for two weeks.
While on the subject when I was a Radio Operator offshore, on nightshift I was the stand in for the Medic, as they did not want to pay him a call out, this involved getting disturbed while I sat, feet up, watching videos, to give out copious amounts of Lemsip or paracetamol. One evening a young lad asked to see the Medic, being obtuse I told him no and that he would have to tell me what was wrong before I gave him a Lemsip or pill. He informed me he had a rash on his backside, turned around and was just about to drop his tracksuit bottoms, when quickly I shielded my eyes, told him to wait at the sickbay and reached for the tannoy to disturb the medic.
Richard III, procession and burial, huge news, and, if I am honest, it all seemed a bit tacky to me. Dick is one of those people who is above normal reason, you have to either love him or hate him, there is no in-between. The bad rep originally came from Shakespeare's play of course, something akin to Hollywood history of today, and despite his killing of others it is the killing of the Princes in the Tower which damns him in most people's eyes. I was probably attracted to Richard because years ago of course he was the underdog and his little foibles, like the hunchback, murder and usurpation of the throne were swept under the carpet as Tudor propaganda. I have never been as fanatical a supporter as some and he definitely was found in the Tower with the knife, candlestick or lead pipe. George Armstrong Custer is another figure in the same vein, you are either content that he was an ambitious fop who cared naught for his men and stupidly divided his forces and sought glory for himself at the Little Big Horn or, his actions were in line with normal US cavalry protocol when meeting Indians in the field, and there is an argument for the latter, you just have to dig to find it.
If I can get the energy up I will clean and prime some troops for the tray, put some pics of yesterday's game on a couple of forums and get on with the scenario booklet.