What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us; time and time over. They are to be happy in: Where can we live but days?" So wrote Philip Larkin.
Today was a day when I not only woke up and got up quite early as I always do, but also when I got showered and shaved and dressed quite early to drive into town for the second time this week. I had fasted since eight o'clock last night, had pee-ed into a specimen bottle at four o'clock in the morning, and was off into town to have my blood taken to be tested just in case they are able to find something wrong with me.
"Are you on any medication?" the heavily tattooed nurse asked me (unlike me, she obviously likes needles), and expressed surprise that someone of my advanced age wasn't already contributing heavily towards the financial wellbeing of the pharmaceutical industry. I assured here that whatever the results of those tests may be, I wouldn't start popping pills this late in life. I take my chances instead of pills.
Twice in one week is quite enough and I won't go into town for another week. I'm glad to be home again because home is where my books are.
