30 DECEMBER
On Saturday mornings, I generally go down to the High Street and do a bit of shopping for Hilda. I have to pass the Surgery on the way and it's tempting to stop off there, especially if one of my health problems is being troublesome. For several years they actually discontinued the Saturday surgery, which could be really difficult as things have a strange tendency to go wrong with the body at the weekends.
Fortunately the government stepped in and said they should all be open on Saturdays again. They said it was what patients wanted, which is true, but I suspect there may also have been a steep rise in weekend death rates among vulnerable people. The only problem with Saturday surgeries is that there is just one doctor on duty and there is no way of forecasting who it is going to be until you actually get there and can check up on the car park.
This morning, I observed Dr Teacher's new bright red Toyota sitting there in splendid isolation. This was not good news, because I saw him only yesterday, without, I may say, deriving very much satisfaction from the outcome. Once again, we had failed to see eye to eye on the question of my pancreas. So I decided to leave it for today and continue on my way towards the High …