Never Make An Appointment In The Afternoon, If You Can At All Help It, That's What I Say

I went to help Jill take her dogs to the vet. (in my newly vandalised car ☹️) She is not allowed to lift anything for the foreseeable future, I'm not sure how long, because of her heart attack. Nothing strenuous, for 3 months, I think she said.

She is advised not to go back to work for 3 months. 

She's always had very high powered marketing jobs, in charge of takeovers and other big corporate rebranding jobs, and the like, but she said she just didn't fancy that any more.

She took a few years off while she decided which state she wanted to live in, Victoria, or Queensland.

So, she'd started to do carer work, I'm not really sure why? Just because she wanted something to do, and it appealed to her, helping people. Practically charity work, but paid. She thought it would be, well not so much easy, as less high pressure.

"I have never worked so hard for so little money in my life," she said. She laughed

So, I'm guessing she won't be so disappointed about not doing that for a while.

"Are you going back to it?" I asked.

"Yes, sure," she said.

She made an appointment for 3pm for the vet. 3 pm, I thought. The only thing 3pm is good for is putting your feet up and drinking tea preferably with a cream cake, I said. 

Oh no, I don't want to have to get myself across town at 3pm with all those rabid mothers thinking they are doing god's work picking up their sprogs from wherever they send them during the day.

Oh no.

"Couldn't we do morning?" I asked.

"9am?" she said.

"Yeah, sure, 9am works for me." Even if I have to get across town in peak hour. Fuck it.

8.15am. Out with the great unwashed driving at 40 kph because they are too stupid, too confused, or too scared to go any faster, just in case the speed limit changes. Open your eyes, people, I think, check for speed signs. I weave in and out and get myself to Jill's barely on time, but on time none the less.

The dogs had vaccines and their nails done. At one point, I was lifting one of them down off the vet's table and I completely misjudged how short Corgi legs are and, down she went, I essentially dropped her from a height.

Jill looked at me. You know, kind of quizzical.

"Oh, oops, sorry. I thought she was on the ground."

We laughed. Me, maybe more so. The Corgi's are so furry, I was covered in the stuff by the time we were done.

And, I was home for lunch. 

Never make an appointment in the afternoon, if you can at all help it, that's what I say.

I see the house in our street where the last of the old ethnic couples, who once made up the fabric of the street, had lived. I guess one of them must have died and probably the other was put in a home where that one potentially has died too. 

And now the kids are selling off their house, a terrible 1950s cream brick place which I would have said was an eye sore in the street, but now I feel kind of sentimental for it and the old couple who used to live there who I used to say hello to in passing on occasions.

It being a terrible 1950s cream brick place it can be demolished in a street that is heritage protected and because it has this rare advantage, Sam tells me it is going for 4 million. That seems an awful lot even with its advantage of being effectively a cleared site, but that is what Sam tells me. (I think he has that wrong as, I am pretty sure, that would be something like a record sale for our street, for a shitty, out of keeping, cream brick veneer dump that no one wants, in its current form)

Anyway, I guess the kids aren't complaining about the, whatever it is, good price they will be getting.