A Taxi Driver in the Wrong Job?

I wish I could do justice to the misery I inadvertently inflicted on a taxi driver this morning. I hailed his cab on Waterloo Bridge Road and asked to be taken to the House of Lords, a short drive away. It was, he informed me, his first job of the day and, yes, he thought he knew where Black Rod’s Entrance was.

We came across Lambeth Bridge and I could hear him muttering to himself about the traffic and the bicycles and the pedestrians. In all truth, I thought the traffic rather light and, although there were a lot of bicycles and pedestrians, they did not seem to me to be causing any undue problems. I began to wonder about my driver.

The real trouble started, however, when we reached our destination. As it hove into view, he pulled in to the kerb and I reached forward for the door handle, only to be thrown back into my seat as he made a U-turn to set me down on the correct side of the street. This was unnecessary but charming, I thought, but the problem was that there were two other taxis also disgorging passengers. My driver took this as a personal affront. He muttered and grumbled, then tried to pull in in front of the second taxi. Once again, I reached for the door handle; once again I was thrown back as the taxi lurched forward. There had been a bus, he announced, rather accusingly, then made another U-turn. By this time I was beginning to have visions of a nightmarish Ground-Hog day when I was never allowed to alight from the taxi.

This was when he turned around to look at me and to say, accusingly, that I had made him bring me to somewhere where there was nowhere to set down and it was the first job and…… I requested, with as much calm as I could muster, that he set me down there, since I could easily cross the road. For a third time I reached for the door handle, only for that lurch to be repeated. It transpired that, once again, we had been interfering with a bus. Eventually I alighted, paid him and left, but as I did so I could hear him muttering about nowhere to set down and the first job of the day. Somehow, I suspect he might be in the wrong job.

Upon Westminster Bridge

Well, Waterloo Bridge actually, but the point still holds. Driving across it yesterday evening, the wonder that is London was manifest. It was a damp evening, but shiny from the reflections in all the water. A gentle mist rose from the surface of the Thames. The buildings on either bank of the river seemed to shimmer slightly.

I was mesmerised by the play of light and shadow, by the way the sky seemed to move above my head. Although at the opposite end of the day from that which inspired Wordsworth’s poem, I could understand his vision of the city ‘touching in its majesty’.

The river itself seemed unusually busy, with craft plying up and down adding to the light and the sense of movement. As we paused to let a cyclist past, the city seemed to hold its breath and, despite all the noise, it was quiet. A strange paradox; but then, I find that London often is.

Then, this morning, going across Lambeth Bridge in the opposite direction; still wet and glistening, but very different. The overwhelming sense is of bicycles streaming past. I hadn’t seen so many since Cambridge days. When did London become a city of cyclists? And now the river is even busier. Clearly, the days when the river was only used occasionally are long gone; this is now a major thoroughfare. I realised, again, how much I miss London. Perhaps I should return?

I Survived!

The chocolate was appalling; this morning was difficult; but I survived. I was able to get to work and the migraine was containable. Nevertheless, I hope never to do that again. There is something deeply upsetting to the stomach about too much chocolate!

Much more importantly, I survived the day. We had another Away Day. I have become cynical about such things, but this one was useful. We talked with more openness than we often do, and I found myself drawn into the discussions and into the reality of the difficulties that we had to confront. The truth is, each of us in Public Health has to make some pretty tough decisions. Many of us are trying to decide whether to leave Public Health completely. A considerable number of us have already decided to do so. I do not know a single medical public health colleague who is not looking for an alternative.

Is this what the Government intended? Did the Secretary of State really want to get rid of many public health professionals, and certainly the majority of medical public health people?

Sadly, I don’t know the answer. I really do not know what is in the mind of our lords and masters. What I do know is that public health is facing a crisis far more intense than any I have known. The question that I should so like an answer to is: do they know what they’re doing? Or is this just a terrible mistake? If they know, it is unforgiveable. If it is a mistake, it strikes me as a Greek tragedy. Either way, the next generation will be deprived of the NHS that we have known. And that is a tragedy.

Tonight, I have eaten chocolate!

Now, I realise that this is very wicked. Chocolate is up there with terrorist attacks and necromancy. The problem is, I like chocolate; and, once in a while, I allow myself to be tempted into a small amount of it.  Which I have always thought of as fine, until today.

Today, there was nothing ‘small’ about the amount I consumed. For some reason, I could not stop eating it. I delved into a box of Lindor with surprising delight, and did not stop. I am now feeling deservedly sick.

Why? That is the question I ask myself. Why, after years of abstention, did I suddenly revert to eating chocolate? Why have I suddenly been prepared to make myself sick and to risk the migraine that will undoubtedly ensue tomorrow morning?

I can’t answer the question. All I know I that I had better go to bed and that I may not be fit for anything tomorrow. Oh s**t! If there is no blog tomorrow, you will know.

Sexy Beast

Prince Rupert is back. What can I say? My life feels better. I am content.

Prince Rupert is my oh so beautiful car. He is a Mercedes 280 SLK.  He holds the road as if he was on rails. He is wonderful.

As you will know from an earlier post, we had a little accident. There was a dent in the boot lid that was not as it should be. I was mortified.

I am a BRILLIANT driver. I do not make that kind of mistake. It was an aberrant moment, a total fluke. I saw the stump behind me, but did not notice the branch coming out of it at an angle.

When he was in for repairs they leant me a car – an A class Mercedes.  Now, this is a perfectly reasonable car, but it does not stick to the road – it shimmies about. Also, its idea of acceleration is a pathetic approximation to what it should be. And I found myself sitting far too high above the road – I was scared!

However, there were plusses: there were four doors and a back seat; I had to drive more slowly because I was scared at every corner; nobody noticed the car.

Who am I trying to kid? Welcome home Prince Rupert. Tomorrow, we’ll go for a drive – just to make sure we are still in tune. And I won’t have to get up half an hour earlier on Monday.

There is a Beautiful Sky Tonight

There is a Beautiful Sky Tonight

I am sitting at my desk, in the study/spare bedroom, trying to work, but my eyes are drawn to the beauty of the sky outside. It is not a classically beautiful sky: there is little blue; but when I try to describe its colour, I find I cannot. There are so many shades from brightest white to deep grey and everything in between. And the light is luminous. It envelops me; caresses me. It purges my mind of the difficulties of the day.

I watch, mesmerised, as water drips gently from the leaves in the aftermath of the rain. I watch the slowly growing patch of blue, and become conscious of the sun glinting on the chairs on the balcony. The clouds move like majestic galleons across the sky. A crane in the distance is silhouetted against the sky, quiet and tranquil, its work done.

Then, suddenly, the birds are back, looking for food before bedtime. I am still, not wanting to disturb them. They chatter and chitter on the terrace, then fly home to bed.

And now the sky is almost wholly blue, but there are browny red patches at the edges of the blue. It is magnificent. Good night all. I am going to wallow in colour and light.