It's been a day of telephone calls. First Steve(12 mins 42s); then Mum (4mins 59s); then Verity (7 mins 21s) and finally the doctor (2 minutes 03 seconds).
Steve brings more grief. He's convinced his wife and brother are planning to run away together. Apparently he overheard a late night telephone conversation between the two of them. His wife was drunk and naked in the bathroom, crying hysterically into the cordless phone. He said that when she finally emerged, she looked like “a charcoal sketch that had been left out in the rain.” I had the distinct feeling he was lingering on, waiting for me to suggest we meet or that he comes over. I didn't. The last thing I need right now is a Princess with a tragedy.
Mum, well it pains me just typing out those three letters. There's really not much more to be said there. Though at least she didn't hang on long enough to influence a bowel movement.
As per usual, Verity huffed a lot of hot wind down the phone. Then just as I was about to lay the receiver on its side and go and do something interesting, she said: “I've news concerning John! Good news. I think there could be a breakthrough!” Of course, she also has this thing about never revealing good news over the phone and so she used that as a way of inviting herself around for dinner on Friday. That means I'll need to do a shop. All that's in the fridge at the moment is one shrivelled Weiner sausage and a vegetable box full of mould. That she's vegan will put my culinary skills to the test. From what I understand it means she only eats cardboard.
The call to Dr Dennis actually started out as a joke. I sometimes do that, make prank calls to the emergency services. I was intending to send him out somewhere across London to resuscitate a man who died three years ago. But after the first word that left my mouth the secretary blurted: “Oh, Mr. Spencer! you must be phoning concerning the renewel of your prescription. It's for tomorrow isn't it?” I listened as she tapped her pencil along each calender square, counting. “YYEESS” we both said at the same time. I stopped to allow her to go.
“Shall I go?” she giggled.
“...Er, ok then..” she faltered, completely unaware I had just farted down the line “Yes, we're quite correct, it is for tomorrow. Now what would you prefer, morning or afternoon?”
“...rry I didn't quite make that out?” she said
“FFFRRRRPPPPP ffffrrrr PPPfff!”
“...ha ha ha.. No, sorry I still didn't catch it. I'll tell you what Mr Spencer, you come in for whatever time best suits you, OK? The Doctor will se....” And on that drivel I slammed the phone down, cracking the plastic of the handset.
So that's it! Tomorrow (morning or afternoon) I have another appointment with Dr. Dennis. God, if this carries on he'll end up convincing me I'm ill.