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Thursday, 13 November 2014

Among Tories and it's my fault

Does car deprivation help us blog? Joe Hyam preferred buses/trains to cars. On one bus he overheard school-kids discussing drug dealers and used the material in a piece published in Spectator (Right-wing weekly but well written). Kudos! But Joe lived in Tunbridge Wells, effectively a London outer suburb (albeit 45 miles out) and well served by public transport.

Yesterday I took a political journey. The local bus didn't arrive and I walked most of the route (pic gives flavour) to the private hospital. No big deal, about 3 miles, and I'd added a walking contingency. Walking towards the land of Mixed Feelings.

Medically it was good news. Cataract op in one week. Check-up a week later. It's "very likely" my eyesight will be good enough to drive.

I know about cataract; VR went through it and she, like others, found the op tolerable. But she went NHS (ie, free). For selfish reasons I cannot spare the time. I am paying.

Oh, the pastel colours. Comfy chairs. Deference. An elegant receptionist dressed to kill (let's hope not!). Diplomatic talk of credit cards. Precious chat of other patients, clearly Tories. I will pay in more than cash. Pray for my soul.

A WEEK later and a vehicle honked outside - Ibrahim, of course…

Much as she enjoyed Ibrahim’s company, she regarded his horn as peremptory. A reminder of Catford where occidental teenagers had tooted from their cars rather than ring the Torridon Road doorbell. But then Ibrahim wasn’t exactly devout, more given to natural exuberance. Perhaps he saw a car horn as a Pakistani musical instrument. And here he was in his people carrier, brilliant white teeth beneath a bristly moustache, reaching across to the passenger door, eager for her to join him.


  1. Oh dear, you may wish the anaesthetic wasn't merely local! Never mind, I'm sure all will be grist, and it'll be good to have it done.

    Our local bus into St Brieuc goes twice a week and you have to phone in advance. The, usually female, drivers takes the slip roads onto the N12 with all the polite discretion of a white van man and rejoice in hitting the speed bumps in the villages so that one's head nearly hits the roof and one's teeth rattle - it's not her own vehicle's suspension after all. It's fun though, must do it again soon.

  2. It will make good blog fodder. If the situation was reversed you would be encouraging me to take some photos.

    As you are going "Tory" you could ask some of the team to handle your camera for you.

  3. Lucy: I wouldn't be sharing the op theatre with them, would I? Oh, that would be too cruel.

    Sir Hugh: As you say, good material. Like compost, but not as benign.