Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Stuff that happens when you've got a man cold

Fell up the stairs, and poured tea on myself first thing. I drank the rest of the tea with paracetamols (Lorraine's universal panacea) as I was feeling rather hot, unwell and achey so went through the day on first gear.

Tiresomely, I had run out of my blood pressure tablets so I had to schlepp into town. I was refused them (having no Rx) at the pharmacy, and at the surgery I was told I'd have to call back this afternoon. The receptionist asked if I wanted to take my blood pressure because I looked flushed. I said I'd had a 24 hour tape last week and it was fine, just wanted to keep it that way. Then later, I just hurried for the bus at Beaky Top,  as I waited to board I happened to rub my chest. A man looked at me in a concerned way if I was all right. I was fine, and it was nice of him, but vaguely unsettling for me.

On the bus, the driver was wearing a blonde wig and short skirt, possibly in transition from male to female. I didn't think anything of this in particular. I sat upstairs at the front next to a small but manspreading teenager. When we reached London Road the blonde bus driver poked her head up and shouted, who's been swearing? in the kind of baritone that made me think instantly of pantomimes. The top deck hushed. There were school kids on it. She looked fiercely in my direction, and I found myself saying that I hadn't heard any swearing. There was a slightly charged moment, then the blonde disappeared downstairs again, and a wave of lively school kid cursing commenced. I can't think why I had to get involved.

Otherwise I managed to do a fair amount of writing, the luxury of poetry today, but gave into tiredness later on, and went to bed at 9:30. Lorraine read us a story about someone having to say good bye to their husband as he set off for war. Making Lorraine read the story is the solution to Lorraine falling asleep when I read her a story. Then we slept, until a violent gale woke us up at two o'clock by rattling the tiles overhead.

Found myself thinking lots about homeless people today. Brighton has one of the highest densities of homeless people in Britain, about 60% of them have no local ties, but arrive here because it's a good city. I had a change of heart recently and have been stopping to at least say hello. I realise I was trying to make them invisible in my mind, and I don't think this is right at all. I have done a small amount of work on homelessness in the past. But I'm wondering if there is something more creative about a poor people that you sometimes literally have to step over as you go about the streets. The social injustice rife in this, the world's fifth richest country, beggars belief sometimes.

Found this on Facebook the other day, and it is a good reminder.

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