I had an appointment at the Dermatology Clinic this morning: A few weeks back, when I was being examined by my doctor, she spotted an oddly shaped mole on my side and felt I should get it checked out. She referred me to a dermatologist. Given all that you read in the papers, I’d expected a six-month wait to even hear about the date of an appointment, but to my surprise an appointment popped through the letter box about a week later. With it came very handy instructions on what would be required (undressing in the presence of a nurse) and how to get there (not by car unless you want to pay lots for parking).

And so it was that I hopped onto a bus, at a stop just down from the flat, which took me to the entrance of the hospital. The wait was short, the doctor friendly and the result (provisionally) positive; the doctor didn’t think there was anything malignant about the discolouration, but got it measured and photographed just in case and then booked me in for a check-up in three months.

I was on my way out of the hospital within fifteen minutes of my allotted appointment time. Maybe the NHS isn’t in quite the dire straits that people sometimes claim (although I reserve the right for my executors to sue if I drop dead of a malignant melanoma within the next three months!) So I was in a good mood as I hopped on the train (from a station conveniently located five minutes walk from the hospital) and set off for work.

Ah, yes.

Work…

I think I jinxed myself yesterday by saying how quiet it was at work. Today was one long problem; not with the hardware, for once (!), but with the wetware. Everyone who rang me or came to see me appeared determined to disagree with me about something and/or generally give me stress. I was very glad when the day was over. Even though most of the ‘discussions’ were fruitful in progressing the stuff I’m working on right now, they still left me fuming at some people’s stubbornness. In the end, I decided to skip my piano course and come straight home. (I’m a bit pissed off now actually that I didn’t go, but at the time I was just so worn out I wanted to be home with my feet up.)

On the upside, I’ve spent the evening browsing the web and also remembered to write to a couple of my friends too.

Brett was out at a Chorus meeting tonight and, judging by the fact that he’s not home yet, I’m suspect he stayed on for a drink (or two…) after the meeting finished. Ah, well, his loss; he’ll have to do without my cheery face and warm hugs when he gets back; I’m knackered and I’m off to bed.

Goodnight.