Bricks and mortar

The phone rang yesterday morning. It was the hospital.

"The Brick has a cancellation at 1pm, this is his last day until February. Would you like the appointment?

A neuro appointment in only a week.

L'enfer oui!

Off I toddled to outpatients and on arriving in the back carpark discovered a fencing contractor parallel parked straddling both disabled parks. No, I didn't tell him he was the aborted offspring of a Klingon Whore, but I did say, quite politely "excuse me, could you back that up and free up a carpark? You are blocking 2 disabled parks." "Er, yeah, OK" says he. And did so.

Aborted offspring of a Klingon Whore.

Anyway, off I went to see The Brick and he was in top form. "Your eyes are coming right" (I know); "you are managing your MS very well" (of course I am, I gave up living so as to prolong this indefinitely); "that burning can be rather severe, can't it" (*nod*); "Your GP can handle this from here" (he already was); "now look at my finger, now my thumb" (it would help if you knew which one YOU were holding up, too); "you won't need steroids this time" (see "Your eyes are coming right"). "You can walk heel-to-toe backwards better than you can forwards" (I do everything better backwards, mate); "The baclofen didn't cause nystagmus, this is MS" (I'd pretty much figured THAT out too) "you really are doing very well" (of course I am, that's why I had to take Baclofen, and have nystagmus, eh); "Will see you again as situation requires" (yeah, see ya next time buddy. And bring ya MRI machine, I wanna have my photo taken).

Today we began the process of moving a 20 foot tall blue cedar into a new place in the garden. It lives in a washing machine bowl. Tomorrow we might tow it out with the car. Unless it rains. Or we forget. It's only supposed to be moved years ago to be Christmas tree in the garden. It's not like Christmas is close, or anything.

We have a ton of outdoor ornaments for it.