I had a pleasant time on Wednesday, meeting my friends Tony, Robin, Les and Angus in a pub in Brixton, where we discussed the important issues of the day, namely music and football. The excursion caused me some problems, in terms of my agoraphobia, but generally was OK. So that was fine.
But this was followed by great misery on Thursday as my eye suddenly became sore. Realising it was undoubtedly a very serious condition, I rushed to the doctor, quite prepared to brush the receptionist aside if she gave me any nonsense about waiting for an appointment. Fortunately for all concerned, I was ushered in to see my doctor fairly quickly
Several minutes and a quick examination later, I was on my way to the chemist with a prescription for a small tube of anti-biotic cream. My so-called doctor claimed it was a mild infection which would clear up in a day or two.
I was unconvinced. I mean, can you trust these doctors? I trudged home, fully expecting to live out my few remaining weeks in agony before dying of some terrible eye disease.
OK, my eye is feeling better now. Possibly it wasn't terminal after all. But I still feel the doctor didn't take it seriously enough.
Have retreated to the couch with emergency duvet, stored in the living room for just such times of crisis, and will drink tea and watch Buffy till I recover.