Protocol

Bitterly cold this morning - the temperature hovering near freezing. Those hoping for a mild winter are in for a disappointment. Angus is glad he filled up with heating oil in August when it was 50% cheaper. Sophie doesn't so much love as adore cold brisk mornings. Something in her DNA is triggered by the frigid wind  and she's off up the hill like a puppy. Her companion pulls up his collar and follows her at a slower pace. The cold certainly isn't triggering anything in his DNA other than a desire to get back to the warmth inside.

Dog and master discuss the passage of the infrastructure bill in Congress and the outlook for Build Back Better. Our forward progress is interrupted by a group of slugs heading towards the safety of the newly ploughed field on the other side of the lane. Sophie stops to glare at them. For a moment she considers treating them as a snack but is 'encouraged' along.

Down by the river we pause long enough to watch two swans paddle by. We have the place to ourselves - there's not a soul about. Still a few boats moored down by the pontoons but even these hardy hang outs will soon be gone. 

Then it's off home to pick up 'The Font' and head down to the medical centre in the little market town for our 3rd Covid jab. We are told, rather than asked, to fill out a form. Clipboards are pushed towards us through an opening in the plexiglass screen.  'If you're nervous you can go in together' says the receptionist without looking up. A nurse appears. We hand her our clipboards. She also tells us that if we're nervous we can go into together.  By this time we've got the message that it's quicker and more efficient for them to do two jabs at once. 'How very kind of you' says 'The Font'. This is the right answer. We're shown straight in.  

Injections over we are escorted into a waiting area by a rather stern lady in a white coat. ' You'll need to wait for fifteen minutes before you can go. It's the protocol'. Angus suggests we sit outside in the fresh air. He is disabused of this notion. It's not the protocol. We sit at one end of the waiting room while a French couple sit at the other. They don't talk but sit staring at each other.  The waiting room is very white. There is something ever so slightly eerie about it which is perhaps why the French couple are staring, silently, at each other. No one else comes in. This makes 'The Font' wonder if it's a VIP waiting room. We laugh. The stern lady comes in to see what all the noise is about. 'Are you alright ?' she asks in a tone of voice that suggests silence is the recuperative rule.  The silent French couple are allowed out after eight minutes. We follow seven minutes later.