Day 178
I applaud myself this morning, because there is still half a tub of homemade ice cream left in the freezer.
Then I realise:
- 10:27am is not an appropriate time for ice cream unless you are on holiday
- I have only had the ice cream in my possession for 3 days
I promptly retract my pat on the back and shut the door.
In other news, Orange Twirls and Giant Orange Chocolate Buttons are a thing now. So, in an effort to be remotely healthy (i.e. burning off pre-calories), I manoeuvre my bike out of the spare room – which is no mean feat – and ride to the local petrol station, where there is rumoured to be a stash of these limited edition candy bars on the counter.
I have a 30 minute lunch break window to get there and back.
Oh
My
God
It is all uphill.
I huff and I puff and I stop (several times) for a drink of water and eventually make it, red faced and out of breath. I fall into the shop, gasping, and head straight to the fridge for hydration. Plonking 2 iced teas, 4 Twirls and a Marshmallow cider (I know!) on the counter, I exchange pleasantries with the shopkeeper and then roll downhill all the way home….
Please note – the Twirls remain intact until I share one with Darren after dinner, so I earn that pat on the back after all.
The next day I am on a mission. I drop Darren to the neighbouring town and then I drive to Sherborne, which is about twenty minutes away.
I have driven a tiny Cheverolet Matiz to Norfolk numerous times; I have managed to take a large 4×4 around the outskirts of London; and I have even navigated my way through a town in Thailand. However, it has been a while since I have really driven anywhere further than the next village and I’ve not commuted since March, so today I am not feeling particularly confident. Within two minutes of dropping Darren off I have bumped up a curb whilst changing the radio station and deduce that I must not take my eyes off the road, even to alter the air con or blink.
Sherborne is full of windy roads (hazardous) and beautiful, old buildings (distracting) so I work hard to concentrate on the road ahead. The hospital – my destination – is in a bit of a tricky place due to lack of parking and a one way system, but I manage to pull up near to the entrance after my second attempt, or the “scenic route” as I like to call it. I park in a random fashion and dash to the main reception – but have to leg it back and move the car when I notice I am blocking another space and an elderly couple are trying to park – then obtain the large box of equipment and training arm (literally an arm) and pack it into the boot.
Whilst stationary, I type in my next destination and carefully listen to the directions. Which are crap, by the way, because I end up at a dead end, in the car park of a very posh school, surrounded by flashy cars and boys dressed as men. I turn down Mariah Carey and sneak back out, my sat nav adjusting and taking me to the correct road.
I am finally close to Weymouth. I can see the ocean and the sunshine is glorious. I bust some moves to nineties RnB in the slow traffic and sigh as I glance at the other side of the road, caravans galore and vehicles at a standstill. Great, there is only one way in and out of the town.
Eventually we speed up and all of a sudden a pigeon flies towards my windscreen and I scream. He is so close that I can see the fear reflected in his eyes and he starts to beat his wings frantically, reversing mid-air. He survives, inches from my car, and I can feel my heart beating extra fast.
FFS.
I can’t locate the hospital on the sat nav, but I have programmed in the road name. Unfortunately, this results in my driving the entire length of the road, with no hospital building to be seen. I am desperate for a wee and jig around as I stop to find the postcode of the hospital. Ten minutes later I have parked, delivered the equipment and am on my way to the nearest supermarket to use their facilities.
And buy some pork pies and another orange Twirl.
I deserve it after these shenanigans!