|look out, there's a monster coming!|
So I was decidedly on the QV when I rode out yesterday morning.
On the way to the Post Office with some parcels of sold artwork (yay!) a car pulled out of a side road, straight across my bows. I rang my bell frantically in hopes that she might stop. She did, blocking my progress.
"Couldn't you see me pulling out?" she shouted angrily.
"Couldn't you see me cycling along the main road?" I retorted. Not the snappiest comeback, but what can you say? Some people have an invincible belief that Bike Gives Way To Car. Whatever.
On I went. Was that my adventure? -surely not. Not dramatic enough.
Down the hill, I was passing the Vintage Point and lo, there was Mal, talking with Ursula. After we'd looked through a big tin box of ancient photos (RAF chaps in the desert, with Hawker Harts sitting with their tails in the air, upended by a haboob perhaps. Was it Egypt, as Ursula thought, or possibly Iraq?)
Pondering, we proceeded to the People's Republic of Stokes Croft, where I handed over a pile of Put The Bunting Out cards and Chris Chalkley asked if I wouldn't mind painting over some swastikas that someone had scrawled on a wall painting in the Bear Pit, as I was going that way anyway.
I didn't mind.
But that wasn't really an adventure.
It was now very hot, and I stopped off at Marks and Spencers to get some fizzy pop before arriving at the hospital. Plonked gratefully into a seat in the waiting area of the clinic, I took the lovely, cold, fizzy orange out of my bag, and.....
...dropped it to the floor, where it exploded.
Goodness, you wouldn't believe how much mess that can make.
Or maybe you can.
Some people saw the funny side, and some looked rather humphy. I got a big pile of tissue from the nurse, and mopped it up. "Can't take you anywhere," she said. But at least she was smiling.
It was nice to see Prof Levy again. He went through the results of last week's blood tests, and pronounced all well. Even the cholesterol levels. Bacon butties for breakfast, then.