The long overdue arrival of a bit of proper summer coincided with another trip to Suffolk. We made a return trip to Dennington where we followed an outing to the Queen's Head with the slightly unorthodox Saturday night post-pub activity of a visit to the church. Well, it makes a change from marauding through city centres and throwing up in kebab shops. Anyhoo, as well as being the place where I learned to ride a bike, Dennington boasts a very fine church indeed, with some fantastic medieval wooden carvings. Among these is what is thought to be the only carving of a sciapod, a mythical creature with one enormous foot, under which he shades himself from the sun. Very handy. Or should I say footy?
On the way out we met the chap in charge of locking up the church, who used to work with my Dad, thutty-odd year ago. Here's my Dad wearing my Peters and Lee shades, by the way.
Anyway, not only did this bloke at the church have the fantastic job of being guardian of the sciapod and presiding over the biggest key I've ever seen in my life, he also trumped my boastful tales of cycling derring-do by telling us that he cycles around 40 or so local churches once a year, totting up over 60 miles in the process. Pretty good for a man in his seventies, I think you'll agree.
Yesterday I went for a swim at Sizewell with my brother and his kids, just in front of the nuclear power stations. While Aldeburgh, Southwold and Walberwsick teem with the chattering classes, the two nuclear reactors dominating the beach at Sizewell have funnily enough made it one of the most unspoilt stretches of coast in Suffolk. Not that I'm pro-nuclear at all, or even a proper 'local', since I haven't lived there since 1982, but I quite like the fact that the hordes of Londoners who invade the Suffolk coast every weeekend keep clear of Sizewell, leaving it free for the irradiated local sciapods to enjoy without any apparent ill effects. Some of the dogs do look a bit odd though.
Back to London last night for another diabetic check up this morning at the world's tallest hospital - though disappointingly I only ever make it to the 3rd floor. I think you have to require major dental surgery to get to the top floor, so I'm afraid of taking the lift up there to check out the view in case I come back minus a molar or two. On the less than giddy heights of the third floor I got my annual photo of the back of my eyes done, and all was fine. Shame they don't give you a copy, as it's a quite beautiful image, with radiant shades of orange, which kind of makes up for the stinging liquid they squirt in your eyes, rendering you unable to read or tolerate bright light for several hours afterwards - perfect for a sunny day. I also had a review with a doctor I'd seen a year ago. When I told him I'd seen another doctor six months ago, he told me that I hadn't and that he was the last doctor I'd seen. I said, no, I'd seen a woman doctor last time and he said no, that was a nurse. Oh yes, I'd forgotten that the medical profession is gender coded - men are doctors, women are nurses. Silly me. Anyway, I finally managed to persuade him I had seen another doctor and SHE had suggested I went on to metformin, which seemed to be starting to have a beneficial effect. He said that wasn't possible because metformin only worked for type 2's and I was a type 1. He was quite keen to start me on the insulin but I managed to get him to agree to give the metformin another couple of months, so let's see what happens. With a bit of luck I'll get to see the female doctor again next time.
On the way out we met the chap in charge of locking up the church, who used to work with my Dad, thutty-odd year ago. Here's my Dad wearing my Peters and Lee shades, by the way.
Anyway, not only did this bloke at the church have the fantastic job of being guardian of the sciapod and presiding over the biggest key I've ever seen in my life, he also trumped my boastful tales of cycling derring-do by telling us that he cycles around 40 or so local churches once a year, totting up over 60 miles in the process. Pretty good for a man in his seventies, I think you'll agree.
Yesterday I went for a swim at Sizewell with my brother and his kids, just in front of the nuclear power stations. While Aldeburgh, Southwold and Walberwsick teem with the chattering classes, the two nuclear reactors dominating the beach at Sizewell have funnily enough made it one of the most unspoilt stretches of coast in Suffolk. Not that I'm pro-nuclear at all, or even a proper 'local', since I haven't lived there since 1982, but I quite like the fact that the hordes of Londoners who invade the Suffolk coast every weeekend keep clear of Sizewell, leaving it free for the irradiated local sciapods to enjoy without any apparent ill effects. Some of the dogs do look a bit odd though.
Back to London last night for another diabetic check up this morning at the world's tallest hospital - though disappointingly I only ever make it to the 3rd floor. I think you have to require major dental surgery to get to the top floor, so I'm afraid of taking the lift up there to check out the view in case I come back minus a molar or two. On the less than giddy heights of the third floor I got my annual photo of the back of my eyes done, and all was fine. Shame they don't give you a copy, as it's a quite beautiful image, with radiant shades of orange, which kind of makes up for the stinging liquid they squirt in your eyes, rendering you unable to read or tolerate bright light for several hours afterwards - perfect for a sunny day. I also had a review with a doctor I'd seen a year ago. When I told him I'd seen another doctor six months ago, he told me that I hadn't and that he was the last doctor I'd seen. I said, no, I'd seen a woman doctor last time and he said no, that was a nurse. Oh yes, I'd forgotten that the medical profession is gender coded - men are doctors, women are nurses. Silly me. Anyway, I finally managed to persuade him I had seen another doctor and SHE had suggested I went on to metformin, which seemed to be starting to have a beneficial effect. He said that wasn't possible because metformin only worked for type 2's and I was a type 1. He was quite keen to start me on the insulin but I managed to get him to agree to give the metformin another couple of months, so let's see what happens. With a bit of luck I'll get to see the female doctor again next time.
1 comment:
looks like a cosmic fart - where was Bob's studded belt the other day?
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