A Surfeit of Beef, Feeling Needled and Bad for the Blood Pressure

Last night was rather uncomfortable. I cannot point the blame for this in the direction of anyone else but myself. Following my visit to the garden centre at the weekend I decided to make some small inroad into the freezer which was beginning to  strain at the seams. In this it sadly coordinated with my waistline.  I had purchased a large pack of excellent lean beef. This was conveniently sub-divided into portions which were the precise size for the making of a steak pie. My friend Margs had arrived to transport us to the garden centre and as usual came laden with gifts, mine being a Panettone loaf. Last night's menu was therefore set as steak pie and bread & butter pudding made with the panettone. The preparation was somehow delayed so it was rather later than usual when I ate. I cannot quite achieve my mother's touch with the pastry crust but it is rather good if I say so myself. Time and pie crust wait for no man however so, late as it was,  it had to be eaten as had the pudding, served as was mandatory, with lashings of custard.  Shortly after this my eldest brother phoned while I was up to the armpits in the washing up bowl. I took some delight in hearing him salivate over the phone as I described the meal. A very long time ago when we were younger we used to fight over the same pie for the "underground". This was the part of the pastry crust which was underneath and had soaked up the gravy. I confess to still enjoying this bit to the present day. A consequence of this late repast and perhaps divine retribution for tempting brother's tastebuds into overdrive was that I spent a troubled night. Instead of sleeping soundly in the 4 drawer sprung edge divan my slumbers were disturbed by that overfull feeling which occurs when you have stuffed your face rather too well for nocturnal comfort.

This morning I had an appointment at the surgery for one of those annual cardio-vascular tests that they proffer to gentlemen (and ladies) of a certain age. Once again Fate's fickle finger had directed that that the apple I picked out of the barrel of appointment times was an early one. The earliest one in fact,  at 8.30am. I should be used to being first as innoculations at school were always done in alphabetical order, boys first. The only advantage to this Alpha sorting order was my satisfaction in staggering out of the room clutching my arm and groaning in fake terrible pain.... I had the doubtful privilege of always being first in line for polio, smallpox and TB jabs. Now these were not with the miniscule needles of today. In Kojak's youth the hypodermic needles were more like ladies hatpins of the Edwardian era. If you are still unsure of the size I would recommend watching the BBC TV Antiques Roadshow programme. At this point you will permit me one of my small digressions. Injections, as a whole have never bothered me. As a small child at junior school we were all given a series of injections against polio. I can remember being unperturbed when one of the girls fainted at the size of the needle. The nurse about to administer mine had to rush to assist. As she had already harpooned me with the syringe she told me to "hold that for a minute" while she went to the aid of the softie girl. Now in those days, dear reader, we always obeyed official authority and so I dutifully stood there holding the needle in my arm until her return. The only time I have felt a tad unsure about an injection was shortly after my relocation to London back in the 1970s. I registered with a nearby doctor and needed a typhoid and cholera injection prior to a Spanish holiday. The doctor was a locum and I had brought the serum with me having had the first part of the injection back in Lincolnshire. Kojak had managed to time a two-part holiday injection to span a career transfer.  I began to have doubts about the doctor's experience when it became obvious that he had never heard of this two-part jab. A smidgeon of anxiety crept in when he asked me how much he should inject. Judging by the resulting crater in my arm he clearly thought it was better to give me too much rather than too little.

That "digress" was rather longer than usual but you will be relieved to know that I am now returning to the present day. Thursday is market day in Kirkham so I arrived in good time. In such good time that I was there before most of the staff. The appointment followed the usual procedure, "Still smoking?"... "yes!"  "Sample" dutifully handed over and pronounced normal. Blood pressure checked and also found to be normal. The sister cheerfully announced that they would do the usual blood test and promptly made yet another appointment for next week. As the blood test is a regular thing, with a little commonsense it could have been done while I was there saving me time and the Medical Centre another appointment. I left the surgery with my blood pressure rather higher than it had been on arrival.