Getting On

Sometimes you've just got to hand it to the NHS. My recent little health scare couldn't have been attended to more efficiently or quickly, even if it did involve downing a litre of water before 8.30 in the morning. The stone-passing pains disappeared as rapidly as they'd arrived, and an ultrasound scan has shown no signs of deposits and no evidence of anything having passed through me. Whatever it was I hope it doesn't return. Sitting in the doctor's waiting room can feel as if the cure will never be worth it. It's a form of hari-kiri, wondering which coughing, sneezing, wheezing person is going to cause your downfall. Old people are in the majority, as you'd expect, and watching them struggling in on sticks, crutches and sometimes in wheelchairs is surely a deterrent to longevity. But then two cheering things happened: on the car radio on the way home was Sir Nicholas Winton, the man who brought nearly 700 Jewish children out of Czechoslovakia just before Germany invaded Poland, and rehomed them in the UK. He is 105, and sounded half that age, lucid and compelling still. And Dame Shirley Williams, at 84 as bright and charismatic as ever, talking about Testament of Youth, the film about her mother Vera Britten (we'll gloss over your biggest ever faux pas, Shirl, that of shutting down grammar schools and introducing comprehensives. Coming back now though aren't they!) Anyway, it's obvious there's old age and old age. I wonder which category I'll fall into? Which reminds me of a post on Facebook which really made me laugh. This Japanese doctor should be listened to. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10204122554696310&set=a.3211977910532.2139833.1598807618&type=1&theater