I had a hospital appointment yesterday in St Vincent’s.

Quelle surprise!

This one was with a new lot – The Pulmonary Laboratory – to add to my ever growing list of departments who are looking after my case.

The appointment stated that the purpose of the visit was a breath test, This was unfortunate as they are situated in the Herbert Wing which is the longest possible walk from the car park, and on the fourth floor, so by the time I got to them I was completely out of breath. But they tested me anyway. They measured my weight, my height and then proceeded to test my lungs by making me breath or blow into a large computerised thingy. Apparently the only reason I was referred to them was because I am graded as a Smoker! Talk abut stereotyping!

After they finished with me I arrived [breathless] back at the car park.

Normally there are two or three people queuing for the car park ticket machine. This time though there was a long queue going back outside and up the steps. Something was amiss? The ticket machine is problematic at the best of times but this time it seemed to be excelling itself. Eventually a disembodied voice announced that the machine was out of service and could we all please go to the alternative machine on level three. The orderly queue dissolved into a rabble all rushing to use the suggested machine. Now I’m an old hand when it comes to that car park and I knew where the alternative device resided, tucked away in a quiet corner. As the crowd all piled off in the wrong direction to the east, I headed west.

Having paid for my ticket I then had the next problem. Where did I park the car? I knew roughly so I wandered off and every now and then I pressed my key fob. Sure enough, I soon saw my car as its lights flashed.

As I drove to the exit I passed a few groups still searching for the alternative ticket machine. Should I have stopped and pointed them in the right direction? Nah! Let their search be character building.

I can be a right bastard at times.