WFH annex: Today was the day of living dangerously
My yellow FIAT 500 and I have dreaded today. Weepy Alex, the Bulgarian assistant to my medical consultant, Mr Poppet, said last week I indeed need the necessary blood test , at the London Hospital in perso n, today Monday, to allow the good doctor to advise the result tomorrow, remotely.
Weepy Alex, he is alone and taking it badly, sniffs I make a journey to London Bridge Hospital, by motor vehicle if I so wished. But it has to be today, 24 hours before the diagnosis. Many have remotely offered advice, hand washing tips, masks and alternative thoughts.
Rolling the dice
Obviously a trip to London Bridge Hospital awakens visions of the plague-ridden victims writhing and ill-equipped masked nurses ferrying the sick on trolleys through packed wards. We watch the daily news on TV. Yet the other side of that Corona Scylla is the Charybdis of not doing the cancer test regularly, as my brother has died of it in the last few weeks.
Fans of a book called "The Dice Man" will recall the central character throwing the dice to make the tricky decisions in life. So I tumbled the dice, corona risk or cancer risk, for several days.
I report to you today's discovery. Only I and five others know this.
I drive through to London Bridge Hospital by a circuitous route, navigating the yellow signs for the diversions. It is speedy, but circuitous. There are only three cars maximum at most at traffic lights en route.
Emptyland
I can confirm to City workers, who may be in doubt, that their office buildings in Cheapside are indeed still there, I redub The City of London Emptyland as I am telling the story - and most of you won't be able to know or check.
City loyalists will be proud that the roadworks people are still working on the gas repairs on the Cheapside junction with St Pauls. Having been so doing for many, many months before lock-down, one's heart nearly swells with British pride that works continue. Elsewhere, for some reason, "100g broadband cable technology" vans and staff are the dominant work force. Maybe they are in disguise, checking who is collecting data on Zoom and webex.
At London Bridge Hospital, I am informed that the bloods unit is closed. "Please go to the Shard". I brave leaving the safety of the FIAT 500 for "the outside", salute the parking attendants, trying to behave authoritatively (as if I belonged), and I circumnavigate the closed routes to the Shard, for the train station is much closed, Swerving the empty buses, behold I arrive.
Witches readied for the pond
Readers in Scotland at this point will now be disappointed. London being "plague central" (I think this is an atavistic fear from the Black Death) the homecomings north recently on lock down meant plague-carriers from down South saw a slight depression in local civic courtesies and warm welcomes. Every worst thesis of London and its meaning seemed confirmed. We have plague pits, obviously, here.
So as the Scots dip their witches into the ponds meanwhle, I brave the Shard.
This is what I found. The customer, dear readers. was me. I was the market. The staff-to-customer ratio was as high as a five star hotel in Phuket. Ten masked form fillers,suited and booted, hand me forms and phones were delicately handled in latex and returned wrapped in Kleenex. And I was into the zone.
You could hear a pin drop in the inner sanctum. The Colombian front line nursing personnel and I chatted dulcetly in Spanish, as I enquired about their homeland and shared my concerns for my village back in Vejer. We shrugged at odd English behaviours, and as I rewiped my hands, the needle came and my bloods were removed.
The drive for freedom
I drove back and staring at an enormous sign prohibiting the Bridge crossing over the City "Authorised vehicles and taxis only" on an empty road, I turned right and drove over. Yes, dear reader, in Emptyland, I am a safe corona taxi driver of one, self-appointed, me and the FIAT 500. For a brief moment, it was all my kingdom. And I decide. The emergency vehicle drivers and I shared a salute as I made it to the other side. And Dr Poppet gives me the blood findings tomorrow.
\[Editor's Note - the day after. The bloods are flat-lining, no significant change, so short-term the crisis is postponed. Hurrah.Thank you for kind notes to those who wrote.\].