I was woken by my phone the other morning.
There was a female on the other end of the line. She prattled on at length and stopped suddenly whereupon I realised she was waiting for an answer.
I should maybe explain that this female was – er – “of foreign extraction”, probably from Darkest Africa. I couldn’t understand a word she was saying so there was fuck all chance of my providing a satisfactory answer to her implied question. Also I was still half asleep which didn’t help matters. I asked her to start again and I got the distinct impression that she wasn’t pleased at this. To make matters worse, I still couldn’t understand what the fuck she was on about.
Eventually, after a series of attempts I managed to make out one or two words, the most significant of which was “Beacon”. Right! So this wasn’t a spam call or some other devious means to part me from my cash.
After another session of Twenty Questions I managed to elicit the information that this was the Beacon Eye Clinic an that they wanted me in for some more tests. I had forgotten all about my impending Glaucoma, what with all the excitement over my heart escapades. I told the poor female that yes, I could make the appointment. A few minutes later I received a text confirming the appointment. It would have saved a lot of grief if they sent the text first?
So now I have to drive up to the Beacon Clinic on Tuesday for an eye test. Then I have to drive up to St Vincent’s on Wednesday for my heart stress test.
They seem to be working their way hough my body like some kind of annual car test. Having tested my engine and headlamps I wonder what they have in store for me.
I hope it’s not an exhaust emissions test….