I was down in the village yesterday.

Before I go any further I should mention that Herself had been to the eye clinic last month to have her eyes tested and measured for a cataract operation. She had one eye done a couple of years ago and it was time for the other to be done. But they said that with the “prevailing circumstances” [i.e. the royal fuckup the Virus is causing] that the operation itself could be months away. Also, because of the time lapse since the first operation, the eye that needed doing was pretty bad and that the operation might be a tad dicey, so it was to be done in the Eye and Ear hospital in Dublin so they would have all the necessary equipment if her eyeball dropped out or something.

Anyways, as I said, I was down in the village doing things that people do in a village when the coffee shop is closed. I was in the chemist chatting up the girl there when I felt a tingling in my leg. This was not the effect of chatting with the girl, but was in fact my mobile phone, which has an irritating habit of either being too loud or too quiet so I have it set to vibrate.

I whipped out the phone but of course I was too late. The caller had disconnected. But then I got a text from the caller – the hospital had a cancellation and Herself was down for eleven in the morning on the following day.

I got home and announced “good news!” “What?” says Herself. “You’re having your eye operation tomorrow morning!”

Of course there was blind panic [well, hopefully not blind?] as Herself worried about what clothes to wear and the fact that her hair wasn’t washed and stuff life that. I got it in the neck for agreeing to the operation without consulting her but as I pointed out she only had about seventeen hours of worry and what the fuck would life be like if she had several weeks of panic.

I drove her in this morning. It’s an area of Dublin I used to know well but I haven’t been there in about fifty or more years. Jayzus but how the place has changed. If it isn’t trams trying to run you down it those fucking plastic matchstick things to mark off cycle lanes. They are everywhere. They’re worse than cones. And as for the hospital – it’s an ancient place with a maze of corridors and of course we got lost. I lost count of the number of times I was specifically ordered to wash my hands.

I’m sitting here now in the Manor waiting for the phone call to tell me whether she can be collected or if her eyeball did pop out.

Incidentally, I didn’t point out today’s date to her.

I didn’t want to worry her.