The injection.

Wednesday morning. I show up at 8:29 for my 8:30 shingles injection. The efficient woman at reception takes my details and sends me off down a long , brightly lit, corridor to see a nurse. Angus notes that new luridly blue plastic hairs have been acquired since his last visit in January.  Within four minutes my identity is checked, my history updated and the second injection given by a proficient young woman wearing what appear to be purple pyjamas. I barely feel the needle go in and inform her that she's a skilled injection giver. She laughs politely at this but clearly thinks I'm from the same school of idiocy as the man on his Golfymoon. The NHS gets a well deserved 10 out of 10 for efficiency.

While waiting for 'The Font' to drive back from Marks and Spencers to collect me - " You're bound to be at least half an hour so I'll go shopping " - I have a cup of tepid coffee from a machine next door to the renal unit. 

A nurse practitioner stops to check on me . " You ok Love ?" . She asks this in a way that makes it clear she thinks anyone sitting on their own drinking a coffee in the cafe by the renal unit isn't. We have a wee blether during which she looks at me intently and asks me if I've come far.  She tells me that feeling absolutely drained for two or three days after a shingles vax isn't unusual . 

Normal service will resume tomorrow after a few more restorative naps and the consumption of lots of Paracetamol.