I seem to have the pox. Again.
And, hard to believe, but true, it's even more unattractive than usual. I look like I have been punched in the eye, with little blisters to top it off.
Apparently registering with the doctor who is right around the corner can only be done on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays between 11.30-12.30. No appointments can be made until you register. Of course not. So I went to a walk-in clinic and was soundly told off by a nurse for not having a stash of the prescription only drugs that I need so I could have already started taking them . . . was a rather bizarre conversation where she just got angrier and angrier and I became more and more confused - I have obviously been molly-coddled by the New Zealand medical people for far too long. Debated in my head about asking her if she was having a bad day and if so could she not take it out on pox-ridden Penelope but decided that it might not help matters.
Only good thing to come out of the encounter was a prescription and being weighed and not being horrified by the result. So I had some chocolate to celebrate.
It's such a pity that no one ever prescribes me an eye patch.