And happy budget day!
Yes, once again it’s that point in the year where we’re informed exactly how life is being designed to become more expensive for all but the lucky few who happen to have enough for it not to matter
And no, unless you’re a billionaire, I’m probably not talking about you or anyone you know.
For me, it seems the biggest change will be in fuel costs, which is nice considering my mileage just went up.
Taxing Matters
To be clear the proposed changes to electric vehicles, a 3p per mile tax (to be claimed how and when to be decided) doesn’t come into effect until 2028, and at that point I’ll be looking at a rather large decision as to whether to give up the wheels (the car that is, not the wheelchair. I’m still likely to need that). So, it may very well be a moot point.
Still, the timing does seem spookily apt.
As for the reason for my increased mileage, well that can be traced directly back to my one-handed Wonderwoman of a wife, Tina.
You may recall, if you are someone who follows these poor writings, that Tina broke the index finger of her right hand while freeing a leaf from underneath the windscreen wiper of the car last week. If you’re not lucky(?) enough to have read all about it you may do so here.
Wait For It
We left casualty that afternoon, with a referral to the hand clinic at Pinderfields Hospital some 13.1 miles away (why yes, I did clock it. Thanks for asking), Unfortunately, and possibly as a result of sitting in a room with a bunch of sick and injured people, I came down with the lurgy the day after this misadventure and wasn’t well enough to ferry Tina to her appointment.
Said appointment was therefore rearranged for Tuesday of this week, or, as some have taken to calling it, yesterday.
Now, as I say it is 13.1 miles to Pinderfields. Unfortunately a further 5 miles had to be added as the turn off at Ravensthorpe was closed due to roadworks. A fact we only found out after queueing with the school run traffic to get there.
You may recall, if you are someone who follows these poor writings, that Tina broke the index finger of her right hand while freeing a leaf from underneath the windscreen wiper of the car last week. If you’re not lucky(?) enough to have read all about it you may do so here.
Wait For It
We left casualty that afternoon, with a referral to the hand clinic at Pinderfields Hospital some 13.1 miles away (why yes, I did clock it. Thanks for asking), Unfortunately, and possibly as a result of sitting in a room with a bunch of sick and injured people, I came down with the lurgy the day after this misadventure and wasn’t well enough to ferry Tina to her appointment.
Said appointment was therefore rearranged for Tuesday of this week, or, as some have taken to calling it, yesterday.
Now, as I say it is 13.1 miles to Pinderfields. Unfortunately a further 5 miles had to be added as the turn off at Ravensthorpe was closed due to roadworks. A fact we only found out after queueing with the school run traffic to get there.
It meant turning around and heading the long way round. It also made us late.
Finger Trousers
Still, a phone call en route, which rather novelly was made through the car itself, meant other patients were bumped up the queue while our appointment was maintained. A wholesome and sensible solution for all.
In the end the usual 40 minute journey took an hour, and when the struggle to get one of the disabled parking spaces was factored in, it was actually an hour and a quarter before we got to the clinic.
There, after a look at the Xrays, and a little prodding and poking by the Occupational Therapist (A woman who appeared to be about twelve, but that’s me getting old), Tina was presented with a new and slightly less constrictive pair of Bedford finger dressing, something akin to a double sleeve fitted over the injured finger and its neighbour, which I was delighted to hear referred to colloquially as ‘finger trousers’. She was also given a splint to wear outside the home as well as a soft version for indoors.
These last two items are designed to reduce the swelling around the soft tissue damage Tina received to the back of her hand, an area which includes quite a few ligaments, muscles, and maybe the odd metacarpal (yes, I know that’s a bone).
And then she was prescribed rest.
The Slack
To be clear this wasn’t bed rest (something she’s pretty good at), but an order to rest the hand, her right hand. The OT even specifically mentioned no cooking, no cleaning, and no washing up, at which point I started feeling a tad picked on.
So far it’s been twenty four hours. For eight of those we’ve been asleep. For three, Tina’s been at work. Nobody has died. With luck, and some superhuman patience this is a state of affairs that might well persist until our next appointment, on Tuesday. I can make no promises.
Still, on the bright side, as future appointments seem to be in our immediate future, at least the cost of motoring remains on the cheaper side. Small mercies, eh?
Until next time!
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Hey, there! If you enjoyed reading any of the above, why not take a look at some of my published work? Below you’ll find links to a number of short stories I’m lucky enough to have included in anthologies. I’d love to know what you think.
New Tales Of Old
Death Ship
Pestilence: Drabbles 1
Reaperman: Drabbles 3
The Musketeers Vs Cthulhu
Eldritch Investigations
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