“Dear patient it is with regret that we have to cancel your appointment with Bogdan the Nurse today.” (sic, text received at 8.00 am this morning)
I reckon Bogdan got a bit trollied yesterday (a Bank Holiday in the UK), had a few and couldn’t face telling me not to drink so much. My hypochondriac disposition and disappointment is tempered by the prospect of a lung health check and a blood test to keep me worried. This is not a whinge, it’s a paean to the NHS that has become proactive in detecting disease instead or reactive.
Meanwhile, in the nesting box the peregrine falcon chick has had a birthday – two weeks old. Across the tracks, work on the hotel and student accommodation has stopped. Anecdotally I hear rental yields in London are falling and, wisely I think, buy-to-letters are get-me-out sellers. It looks like there’s a property bubble along the Thames that will burn a lot of fingers as office space is converted to residential in an already saturated market.
There’s another birthday. The wisteria Floribunda Alba is five years old. Last Spring there were a couple of shy florets lurking in the greenery. This year it looks as if its going to be like Queen Charlotte’s Ball.
My debs are in their knickers so to speak, but I’m optimistic these buds will turn into glorious swans.
Wouldn’t it be loverly?