The rain it raineth every day - true!

One does not, of course, wish to labour the point – but I have been here since Wednesday the 6^th of July and on Wednesday the 6^th of July, Thursday the 7^th of July, Friday the 8^th of July and Saturday the 9^th of July it has rained.  Rained spitefully, viciously and coldly.  And it is July.  As I might have mentioned.  In passing.

Friday (in spite of the rain) was the sort of day during which I heard the siren call of the shops. 

I felt that I had to go with Paul Squared on a mission of mercy to release commodities from their imprisonment on the other side of the counter; but he was still firmly held in the half-nelson of Morpheus and we were expecting Hadyn at some point in the morning. 

Consequently I was reduced to reading one of Conon Doyle’s novels on my phone tangentially featuring the fearsome Professor Challenger and explicitly justifying a more liberal approach towards Spiritualism and the contacting of the dead.

And drinking cups of tea made with pure Welsh Water!

I had forgotten just how pleasant it is to drink water straight from the tap without having to remind oneself that however disgusting the liquid tastes, it is, allegedly safe.  The amount of calcium in the water in Castelldefels makes one astonished that it is actually flows out of the tap in liquid form rather than cascading out in chunks. 

One only has to look at the amount of chalky residue in the kettle to make one wonder just how furred up the pipes leading to dishwasher, shower, and washing machine must be.  In the Barcelona area you have to add the financial burden of replacing water-using machinery on a fairly regular basis to your assessment of the cost of living!

I have now made appointments with the doctor and optician as a sensible part of my time in the UK.  My dentist is unobtainable until August and I was told that he doesn’t work on a Friday so that bit of my Master Plan to Get Everything Done will not be working out. 

The rain has now changed from “shower mode” into “driving mode” and is making my venturing out less agreeable by the minute.

Clarrie has phoned up to check that the arrangements are all in place for the celebrations on the 16^th when I will have left Wales for London and Reading.  My timetable is sorting itself out.

 

“Well,” said the lady in Tesco at the checkout, “I do hope that no one else of your size comes into the shop today because they are not going to get very much are they!”

I must admit that I have behaved like women in M&S at Christmas time when I have observed the female of the species at its most indiscriminately materialistic, sweeping swathes of substances from shelves and into trollies as if everything were free, gratis and for nothing.

I too have been liberal in my acquisitiveness and my largely empty suitcase is now over the limit and I may have to battle my way through the EasyJet website to buy a larger allowance!  But my clothing needs are now satisfied for another season - though I still won’t have very much to wear in winter: another trip perhaps?

The appointment with the doctor (I am still firmly on the system there) was as much social as medical.  I have a great deal of respect for my doctor in Cardiff and will be everlastingly impressed by the way that he got a professor in the Heath to see me individually and not on his usual consulting day during the progress of dealing with my high blood pressure!

 

My blood pressure is a little high, but as I have a highly developed “White Coast Syndrome” I will have to wait and check the readings at home rather than with a doctor watching to get some sort of accurate reading.

I pitied the people whose appointments were later than mine languishing in the waiting room as our talk in the consulting room ranged from the wonders of the British Museum to the life and works of Mervyn Peake with much laughter and a little medical attention along the way as well.  Things appear to be generally satisfactory but I am going back for a scan so that he can have more information to add to my file.

Toni will be appalled, but not surprised to learn that I have bought a couple of books (though remember I bought nothing in London in spite of great temptations) one of which is a series of lists of the “10 most and greatest” so that we had a pleasantly raucous charades aided quiz of the ten most popular pop hits of the 70s and 80s where the amusement felt by all might have had something to do with the amount of alcohol consumed.  I drank the least and confined my imbibing to a bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape because I could.

I am now typing in an eerily quite house as I am downstairs and the others are snoring behind closed doors.

Tonight is a little get together of a few old friends so at some time when the sleepers under the hill have finally roused themselves we will have to go back (once again) to Tesco to get the food and drink.

Sunday will probably be a visit to Cardiff Bay because there is a Festival of Food and Drink there and Angela has a part in the proceedings demonstrating her cooking.  And you never know, we might even have some sunshine to tempt me out and about!