At the doctor's

My doctor is great, but a bit ... strong.

She copes with my stoic approach to minor illness, but she does protest a little: "Il faut toujours venir me voir. Il faut toujours venir me voir..."

This was when I confessed that I'd had a couple of spots of shingles but that after a couple of weeks they cleared up.

"That's fatigue", she said.

"Yes, I had too many late nights."

We discussed bedtime, breakfast time and running for a couple of seconds while she played darts with my arm and a 'flu jab.

I would have given you something to make it less painful and long.

OK.

She did my prescription for my life-giving herbs and potions.

I looked at it.

"I'm going to have trouble with the pharmacist."

"Why?"

"Because the one thing is "for six months" but the other doesn't say anything. If I go to the distant pharmacy where they know me they do it anyway, but the nearest pharmacy won't do it."

She changed the prescription, to my great relief.

I'm going to stop typing now because my dartboard arm is sore!

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