I knew as soon as I hit my snooze button this morning it was going to be one of those days. From the moment I got out of bed I was at odds with the day and it didn't get any better. After grabbing a shower (and not being able to get my hair to my liking after) I noticed the pilot light had gone out on the boiler and now refuses to relight. Thankfully the weather is warmer, I'll have to get it dealt with tomorrow. Then I went to pay my rent and the woman in the letting office seemed to count my rent over and over, on the plus side she gave me back the £20 I'd over paid. Then it was off to Nottingham for a hospital appointment I really wasn't looking forward to.
On the train I paid using my bank card and the ticket inspector messed that up, so had to refund and re-issue. Money and me weren't getting on famously today, that much was evident. The train pulled into a cloudy Nottingham, I felt detached and tired but rallied when I saw some old Big Issue vendor friends. They were on fine form and despite the woes I know they have seemed full of smiles which gave me a reality check. Spirits lifted and some retail therapy done I caught the shuttle bus to Queens Medical Centre, my purpose being to state my case for some cosmetic eye surgery following the gradual decline of my cornea tattoo which was done about seven years ago.
On arrival I'd forgotten my appointment letter but they seemed fine about it. I sat and waited whilst getting comprehensively beaten at Scrabble on my ipad. Within no time I was called in to see the Indian surgeon that had done the original tattoo back in 2005. He's a lovely quiet spoken man, well groomed and with a nice persona. He recognised me and then said 'Didn't I discharge you a year ago?'
Well, he was right but then I was back to state I felt my tattoo had faded and could I have it topped up again? The thing was I wasn't at my articulate best, I mumbled and grasped for words. Things weren't going well, I took a deep intake of air, tried to clear my mind and hope the next two or three sentences contained some pretty impressive Mark Twain shit to swing it back to my favour.
My next couple of lines came out of nowhere, I regained some lost ground but there was still some way to go to bringing it around my way, if at all. I pointed to the fact my cornea tattoo had lasted seven years and I didn't need the whole thing doing again, just the centre. He retorted with costs, expenses and budgets. I empathised with the current politics going on health service wise and said I wasn't here for vanity, people were noticing it again. I guess at this point I wanted to add something along the lines of women have breast implants but you can't see them, you see peoples eyes everyday though. I held my tongue as the mood seemed ambient and he called in two extra doctors to take a look. They discussed things for five minutes and it seemed the operation was fairly simple and they were impressed it had lasted this long since the first time, though shadows of budgets and costs reared their heads once more.
After some pausing and note taking he said 'I'll add you to the list but can't promise anything.' I was then sent to have some photos taken before emerging to grey skies and rain. The wait for news of a potential surgery now begins. Narrowly missing the next train home I sauntered around a nearby shopping centre for a while before being ripped off for £2 at drinks vending machine. The journey home was slow, the clouds hung heavy full of rain across the fields and I just yearned for the comfort of my flat.
So hear I am, typing this blog and hoping something good comes out of today.
On the train I paid using my bank card and the ticket inspector messed that up, so had to refund and re-issue. Money and me weren't getting on famously today, that much was evident. The train pulled into a cloudy Nottingham, I felt detached and tired but rallied when I saw some old Big Issue vendor friends. They were on fine form and despite the woes I know they have seemed full of smiles which gave me a reality check. Spirits lifted and some retail therapy done I caught the shuttle bus to Queens Medical Centre, my purpose being to state my case for some cosmetic eye surgery following the gradual decline of my cornea tattoo which was done about seven years ago.
On arrival I'd forgotten my appointment letter but they seemed fine about it. I sat and waited whilst getting comprehensively beaten at Scrabble on my ipad. Within no time I was called in to see the Indian surgeon that had done the original tattoo back in 2005. He's a lovely quiet spoken man, well groomed and with a nice persona. He recognised me and then said 'Didn't I discharge you a year ago?'
Well, he was right but then I was back to state I felt my tattoo had faded and could I have it topped up again? The thing was I wasn't at my articulate best, I mumbled and grasped for words. Things weren't going well, I took a deep intake of air, tried to clear my mind and hope the next two or three sentences contained some pretty impressive Mark Twain shit to swing it back to my favour.
My next couple of lines came out of nowhere, I regained some lost ground but there was still some way to go to bringing it around my way, if at all. I pointed to the fact my cornea tattoo had lasted seven years and I didn't need the whole thing doing again, just the centre. He retorted with costs, expenses and budgets. I empathised with the current politics going on health service wise and said I wasn't here for vanity, people were noticing it again. I guess at this point I wanted to add something along the lines of women have breast implants but you can't see them, you see peoples eyes everyday though. I held my tongue as the mood seemed ambient and he called in two extra doctors to take a look. They discussed things for five minutes and it seemed the operation was fairly simple and they were impressed it had lasted this long since the first time, though shadows of budgets and costs reared their heads once more.
After some pausing and note taking he said 'I'll add you to the list but can't promise anything.' I was then sent to have some photos taken before emerging to grey skies and rain. The wait for news of a potential surgery now begins. Narrowly missing the next train home I sauntered around a nearby shopping centre for a while before being ripped off for £2 at drinks vending machine. The journey home was slow, the clouds hung heavy full of rain across the fields and I just yearned for the comfort of my flat.
So hear I am, typing this blog and hoping something good comes out of today.
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