Went to see the middle daughter today in a huge great enormous hospital in the Surrey/Sussex badlands, Farnham/Guildford, near where the then World Champion driver (why can't I remember his name... too proud to Google) was killed racing the classy car dealer Rob Walker on the public road, wrapping his 3.8 litre Jaguar (racing drivers drove cars in those days, not just inverted aircraft) round a tree... I saw the place, the dead straight 140mph skidmarks and the tree chopped off at ground level a day or so later, and passed it twice today. It was a single carriageway in those days, dual now.
It felt as if we were driving or being driven all day, although it was hardly four or five hours all told. We waddled cross-country to the daughter's place, got into the S-I-L's Merc A class diesel, dropped a little angel at a friend's house and were driven to the hospital, where the daughter is briefly detained with a kidney infection (she's OK and will soon be released fingers crossed).
The NHS is great if you need difficult treatment, or always has been with me. But it's really annoying in other ways. Nothing to do with medics and nurses who are fine: It's damn jumped-up managers making decisions to justify their inflated salaries.
Herself had taken a few daffodils from the garden here, but they weren't allowed in. There's a new buzzphrase, infection control, which excluded a few garden flowers. What I don't understand is why they let us in, with in my case grotty shoes and frankly other clothes that could do with a wash. It's a mystery.
Just as well the S-I-L was there because I would never have found the car again in the labyrinth of car parks. He's an excellent chap who cossets the daughter.
An American lady in the next bed extolled the daughter's looks and said I looked Jewish, like her. Charming woman.
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