Punctured and Bruised

Yesterday, I cycled to the hospital and back, all the way up and down the Holloway Road. I had to fast from 10.30pm Sunday night. It was very odd being awake and in a public space without having drunk tea. The hospital took five phials of type A+ blood marked with brightly coloured labels. The doctor was nice - young, female and Polish - so I produced the few Polish words I knew to take my mind off the procedure. My nose was at her shapely bum height as I sat on the chair at 9.05 a.m. and uttered the greeting,

"Gin Dobri."

"Oh, you speak Polish?"

"No. I just fancy you."

She dazzled me in the morning light with a beautiful and natural smile.

"That's nice."

"Czaesht."

"You know it!"

"No, I just have half a dozen friends of Polish origin, all of whom also fancy you."

"In your dreams, Englishman."

Today, I have a small bruise.



They will have the results on Thursday, and I go back to the doctor's surgery on Friday to check my blood pressure, and to get the biochemical lowdown.

The chesty cold I've had is leaving me. I ran a couple of miles this morning. The leg rash is going. My concentration is OK. I'm still thinking, surely I cannot be that ill, or I would feel much worse...