This morning R (who recognises a wife who’s heading rapidly back towards toddlerhood when he sees one scowling at the toaster with her bottom lip stuck out) volunteered to drive me up to Birmingham for my appointment. And for once I managed to do the grown-up thing and not knock back his offer, which allowed me to concentrate on staying relatively calm en route, while he dealt with satnav and traffic.
The appointment went well – it had seemed like a bit of a hike to make, just to interview a doctor, but as the position on offer involves (potentially) the wielding of sharp implements in the vicinity of my person, I was prepared to go the extra mile (or thirty) to select the right candidate; and at the end of our chat I was inclined to agree with her nurse’s fervent statement that “She’s wonderful.” Now I get to wait a while and do some thinking.
R, who was already amassing Husband Points at a rate, then collected a bonus for unhesitatingly giving the right response to the statement “I could murder a pizza.” This was not, as you might have thought, “But… didn’t you say you needed to fast till next Monday?” No, the correct answer was, “I’ll happily take you for a pizza. Do you want to give them a ring and book a table?”
It’ll be fine. No, really. That’s why jeans with lycra were invented.
After lunch I walked off about one mouthful of pizza by heading down to the river in search of shots. I’ve photographed this chap before – he’s a regular feeder of pigeons and gulls – but today I was amused to notice that he was throwing crumbled Rich Tea biscuits. It could only have been more Stratford if he’d been chucking Bath Olivers.
About ten minutes ago this came on my iPod and triggered some very happy, very loud and very flat singing along – I know I’ve posted it before, but I make no apology even if you hate Elbow. If you hate Elbow you need to sort yourself out, frankly.
I love the bones of you,
That I will never escape…