Feel hot and 'heady'. My cold worsens. I got out of bed and stood puffing and panting in the bathroom. My face is awful. I look 40. Ally feeling bilious. What a mess. She went off to the AHA looking like a rose. I am sure she is pregnant because she looks so good. I sat with a runny nose reading Brideshead Revisited. I then made some scones and Ally came in at 12 to eat them, along with bananas on toast. Like feeding time at the zoo. We then walked to the surgery on Beckside Road and she disappeared inside. I bought a loaf of bread and sat on the wall. After half an hour Ally came out. Dr Duck thinks she is pregnant but that it cannot be confirmed until the results of her urine sample come back on Thursday. You would really think that in this day and age a doctor might be able to carry out this test 'while you wait'. After all, it is 1983 the year of the Space Shuttle and the high speed train, Roy Jenkins and the £1 coin. Ally says Dr Duck is 'sweet' and seemed embarrassed. She offered Ally her congratulations and told her she holds an anti-natal class at Paternoster Lane every Thursday. We walked home hand-in-hand but refusing to enthuse. It wouldn't do to go wild with celebrations only to have a negative result the day after tomorrow.
I felt rotten and went to bed with Evelyn Waugh, paracetamols and a hot water bottle. I dropped off (to sleep) and only woke when Ally was unlocking the door three hours later. She made a chicken stew, but felt done in. The electioneering on the nine o'clock news drove her to bed. Michael Foot has borrowed Jim Callaghan's spectacles for the campaign, or so it would seem. I lasted until about 11 watching part 2 of an epic on the American Civil War. Gregory Peck was Abraham Lincoln.
Steve Sanderson is 25 today. We have heard nothing much from Pudsey recently and have missed two birthdays. A hot night.
-=-
No comments:
Post a Comment