Friday 1 November 2024

It was cold in the apartment overnight and we ran the AC on 24C for a while. A restless sleep for both but a comfortable bed. Up this morning to another bright blue sky and 17C, so after scrambled eggs and some of yesterday’s excellent bread toasted, we headed off to walk around the old town in the daylight then up the main drag to see what was happening.

All the lads were out, gathering in male only groups, having a fag or a vape and chatting away on bar corners and outside the tabachi. No women to be seen.

The men were dressed as you’d expect and probably see in Carlton, black tracky pants, black top and designer white shoes. A bit of bling here and there. Nice haircuts.

Around 12.00, the restaurants began to open and a couple of lasses, likewise in black, were doing the Aperol Spritz thing on  the footpath outside a flash bar, so we joined them, before wandering home.

Flashy is preparing melanzane parmigiana, to use up the veges we brought from Ceglie. Nice to be back in a decent kitchen.

Lady P is tucked up in bed this afternoon trying to navigate the UK health system, although calling it a system is being kind. She needs a six-month Prolia injection. A simple procedure in Australia. Collect and keep cold the drug from the chemist. Go to the GP. The nurse gives the injection. Bulk bill.

In France, even in rural Charente Maritime, the English speaking doctor charged €26 and gave the injection. The pharmacist however charged €180 for the drug. But doable and easy.

But in the UK, it is impossible to get this via NHS or the Australia/UK cooperative medical arrangements. Burpa’s UK private doctors – worth ago, just pay says the internet. Thanks Google. We love you even if the Russians don’t.

Oh, the doctors don’t do injections! WTF! Private hospital then. Yes, getting somewhere. Stay tuned. Probably have to see a fucking rheumatologist or proctologist and spend a day in ED!

Flashy’s putting the melanzani parmigiana in the oven, having an early strong gin and going for a walk.

Well, spank my arse and call me Cindy! It’s 4.30 pm and there is not a single shop, bar, tabachi, restaurant or even a church open. No chance of a quiet vino then. Back home to Netflicks.





Comments

  1. Anonymous1 November 2024 at 19:50

    Don't disparage proctologists, worth their weight in gold I reckon. The Major

    ReplyDelete

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