Lady in waiting

A provocative little title today chosen to get

you all wondering whether by some miracle of modern

science I might be with child or perhaps been offered a

key position in the royal household in charge of the

ceremonial handbags.

Those dogs just aren't bag trained.

 

None of the above I'm pleased to say it's just that recently

I've been spending rather a lot of time

in waiting rooms of one sort or another and the title

sort of came to me on the breeze.

Nobody liked to tell him that the vet's is next door.

 

Today was no exception.

My trusty kinswoman and I found ourselves, once again.

kicking our heels at the local health centre

after a rather alarming series of visual disturbances

which I had managed to produce the night before.

None of which were fuelled with the aid of

either alcohol or drugs I hasten to add.

 

He was putty in my hands.

 

What is it about waiting rooms?

Within seconds of our arrival I had managed to trigger

a Mexican yawn of surnami proportions which rapidly spread

amongst the other poor afflicted souls all of whom

looked as if they might be incubating some deadly

virus deep within the coils of their Swindon Wanderers scarves. 

Pigs never make for light reading, bless 'em,

 

In the absence of magazines, which are no longer

allowed in waiting areas in the interests of health and safety,

(has anyone actually died from inhaling Homes & Gardens

or suffered serious groin strain whilst lifting the Christmas

issue of Pig Breeding for Amateurs?)

I cast around for alternative forms of amusement

and decided that eavesdropping seemed to fit the bill.

You can't be serious doctor.  Surely that would hurt?

 

It would appear that almost every nubile young woman in the

parish has the hots for the senior partner Dr O'Goodness ME.
He's full of blarney, Celtic charm and, apparently,
to experience just once his bedside manner has made the bucket list
of even some of the most stalwart pillars of the Women's Institute.

Just as names were about to be named and scandalous deeds
discussed in barely audible whispers a door opened and it was my
name which rang out like some enchanted evening across the crowded room.
My turn had come!

As you can see, I still have both my marbles.

The results had come back from my recent MRI scan and what do
you think they revealed ? 
Yes, Alice dear, there was evidence of a brain or sorts but buried away in
  one of the darkest corners, almost entirely masked by a lobe, something else lay hidden .......

Rodney, don't be silly now - give me the mouse!

........ dozens and dozens of new Long Dog designs all waiting
to escape.  So I can't stay here mardling away with you all day,
there's work to be done. 
Fire up the computer Rodney, tonight we burn the midnight oil.