Hair... and the NHS

God, my hair needs cutting.

I had an appointment booked but my lovely hairdresser is now closed for the duration so I’ll shortly have to take the scissors to the barnet and hope for the best. Thankfully, I’ve never resorted to hair dye – badly-cut shaggy dog is not a good look and if your roots need doing as well…. just be thankful you can't go out. You'd only frighten people.

I s'pose I could wear a hat but, sadly, the only one I have is a battered floral number that’s seen better days – difficult to say which is worse, really… the hair or the hat.

And now, a little word about the NHS. Like most people, I’ve seen the good and the bad sides of it and I’ve called it every name under the sun at times. Now, as I said, I haven’t been well recently and under lockdown I’ve had no easy way to get my meds. Step forward Mrs Doc – she’s a GP who lives next door; every day, after doing a full day at the surgery, she’s delivering prescription meds to people in the village. That is dedication – Madam, I salute you.

She left my little parcel of meds on the front porch at about 7pm, rang the bell and stepped back five paces – I could have bloody kissed her!

So, in deep gratitude, Mr Simply and I stood on our porch at 8pm, along with many others across the country and, with tears streaming down my face, we “Clapped for our NHS”… not the sort of thing I’d normally do but these are not normal times. If things were normal, I’d not be sitting here posting drivel online (which is actually only a modern way of talking to yourself) just to keep myself sane, would I?

Picked some rhubarb this morning and made compote to have with porridge; while I was out there, I gave the plum and apple trees a pep talk – I’m hoping for great things from them later in the year, so they'd better buck up.

By the time I’m picking plums, this bloody virus had better be over.