Saturday, 9 August 2014
Obviously young Charlie Croker got off lightly; he only went down for two years, not twenty.
Marcia rang me out of the blue this afternoon and told me that Dr. Abel and his (charming) daughter Maya were coming to stay. I wasn't quite sure what to say. The last time I saw Dr. Abel, he was slashing my leg with a scalpel and then he and a beefy nurse tried to strangle it. As one operation followed another in UK Marcia apparently told Dr. Abel that in the opinion of his esteemed professional colleagues in London, he was a butcher. Now it is entirely possible that after my bloody encounter with him I may, as I limped away from his clinic, have suggested something along those lines but I never expected Marcia to attribute those sentiments to Doctors in UK and inform Dr. Abel on my behalf.
'Well that explains why he hasn't rung since I returned to find out how I am,' I muttered bitterly when Marcia told me what she had said to him soon after I got back. I never expected to see him again and was wondering just which doctor I could see now in an emergency. Dr. Abel was literally the family doctor, he's Marcia's cousin.
I dug out a couple of bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon and uncorked them to breathe before hauling out the ingredients for Lasagne. Not knowing exactly when they would arrive, I thought an oven finished supper safest. Pressed into military service, Dr. Abel had honed his craft during the civil war so I knew he could take a joke. No doubt he would if not laugh off such a slight, at least just shrug it off. He was coming to stay so that was a good sign.
I shook his hand as he walked in.
'No need for me to ask how you are,' he said, 'since you have been treated by the finest Doctors in Europe.'
Irony so dense it caused ripples in the Earth's magnetic field.
Sunday, 3 August 2014
|Cottages are shaping up, just need glass and varnish|
|Bringing the fish home.|
It's alright for him, he's on a bike, I have to push the barrow.
|"Just one tray of spare ribs today, ladies?"|
|There you have it. One restored Stag with the desirable modifications.|
Yours for £13,500 (Verifiable I.D. required for purchase).
|This one is four grand cheaper but without the desirable modifications|
|A Stag or a second hand Eurobox for the same money? Let me think...|
Charles may have come to a conclusion about me but I have come to some about him and his car. He clearly is not desperate enough to throw his natural caution to the wind which leads me to suspect that he is not in a hurry to sell the car. This means that it will be harder for me to knock his price down, something all buyers are duty bound to try on. It also could mean that the car is every bit as good as he describes and that the photographs really don't do it justice.
At one point today, I was looking for excuses to fly back to UK and arrange an appointment to see the car myself but then I remembered that my visa has less than a month to run so if I leave the country now, I will have to stay out of the country until my visa is renewed and that could take three months. Besides, the return flight would cost me a third of the price of the car.
Charles was worried he might have upset me. He hasn't, of course. He has just reminded me of how bloody difficult everything is here and reinforced my resolve to get back to UK, lousy weather, unbearable taxation and all.