Rhubarb, rhubarb, RHUBARB. That’s what I came close to shouting today in the middle of a busy chemist shop. Although how the shop could be busy when the customer care they offer is worse than abysmal is beyond me. The chemist could only partially fulfill my four item prescription. The one item they didn’t have in stock was, of course, the most important. Yeah, yeah I know, that’s just one of those things, but what got my goat, pickled my onion and generally made me hopping mad was this; the chemist neglected to tell me about not being able to provide the whole prescription until she had semi-completed it. Meaning (according to her explanation of secret and evil chemist rules) that I could not take the whole prescription away and go and get it somewhere else but had to accept an I.O.U with nothing from the chemist but a shrug and vague assurance that “the missing item should probably come in this afternoon, come back later” – and this at the start of a bank holiday weekend. It was at this moment that I started to growl, turn green and smash up the display of Bronley soaps and English Lavender bath salts. Well not quite, but I made my feelings felt (I’ve written before about my ‘chemo temper’). The chemist then rang and checked that I would definitely get the medication that afternoon (well done Einstein) and things worked out in the end. OK rant over.
Much more happily one of the other-half’s brothers and his family came over this afternoon – it was lovely to see them all. Even if my traitorous cat totally fell in love with my niece F and wanted to go home with her. F claimed not to have covered herself in fish paste or at least dabbed Whiskas behind her ears, but I cannot think of any other reason why Cyril would betray me for another woman unless, oh no surely not, he’s just a floozy.