Girls night out!

The invitation quite clearly said -

Monday evening - MRI - bring your dressing gown and a friend!

Why the "chemise de nuit"?  Perhaps in case I pulled and

decided to make a night of it - who knows.

Which do you think?
The black never usually fails.

  

What can those initials possibly mean?

A new speed dating venue behind the Cathedral perhaps called

"Mr Really Interesting"?

 

A cultural soiree of Mozart and Rachmaninoff Interludes at the Royal

Concert Hall?

(I made that up actually like most of the stuff I write about).

She's just wondering if she remembered to turn the gas off under those eggs!

  

Unfortunately it turned out to be nothing quite so stimulating

or intellectually challenging.  I had been summoned for a scan of my bonce

at Bath Hospital which I am beginning to know like the back of my hand.

They want to scrutinise the bean, peer at my napper, investigate my noddle.

They go in search of my brain!

So off we three set into the night - my kinswoman, my faded

blue bath wrap and I leaving Rodney the cat in charge of

Long Dog HQ until our return.

Can you see it too?

I've never had an evening hospital appointment before and was
surprised to discover how spooky the usually bustling corridors
could be once darkness had fallen.  And how eerie the
sound of someone walking with a stick became when there was
no one else around.  Get a grip woman!

Your carriage awaits madam.

I found the actual scanner itself to be rather beautiful in a
futuristic, space-pod sort of a way.  All clean lines
and shining white surfaces which gave no hint at all as to how
it would feel once aboard and ready for take off.  Where were the exits?

They warned me about the noise and vibration but those final few passes before
touch down were frankly quite awesome.  Try to imagine being strapped
flat on your back to a bucking bronco machine that had been half
wedged into the drum of an industrial sized washing machine.



Don't try this at home - it's not cross stitch.

But it doesn't end there because at the same time your head feels like it
has been encased in a galvanised iron bucket being beaten by
six angry riveters.  And to round off the experience, piped to you
through headphones comes the sound of the Three Tenors
singing Nessum Dorma.  Fat chance.

That doesn't count Shaun - it's plastic.

If there is ever a next time there can only be one choice of music -
Meat Loaf and Bat Out of Hell.
I'll leave you with a snippet of the lyrics.  Please feel free to sing along
should the spirit move you.

I understand Meatloaf can be quite cuddly at times.

"And nothing really rocks (except the scanner)
And nothing really rolls
And nothing's ever worth the cost.
And I know that I'm damned if I never get out,
And maybe I'm damned if I do!"

Sum's it all up rather nicely don't you think?