Monday, 29 October 2018

Round 44.


Polly is a doctor, but he’s not a very good patient; he has a hole in his back that is refusing to heal quickly, yet each day he has cycled twenty or so kilometres on bumpy tracks and now is driving to Spain.

He lives in Germany.

He has been on holiday in southern France.

Just before he set off to Spain he sat down on this terrace for a coffee and someone asked him what he would do if they came to him with their particular mix of symptoms.

Later he told me that each day he gets home from work, looks in the mirror and sees the reflection of someone who looks a lot iller than all the people who came to his surgery.

I think he prefers playing Petanque.

Yesterday he played in the competition in the local village and pushed the reigning regional champions in a one-point victory.

They complimented him and said – bien joué.

From a French man’s lips, this was taken as a huge compliment.

Sitting around the campfire later that day, he relived a five point winning sequence when he shot the champion’s ball out of the playing area.

And then he settled back and watched the shooting stars in the August Night Sky.

Steve is not a very good patient either; he coughs every morning and then has a cigarette.

But then he goes for a four-kilometre walk.

Steve met Polly for the first time twenty-three years ago.

They met in this garden at the washing line.

Steve was hanging up his washing when Polly stepped alongside and started hanging his.

They looked at each other, nodded but didn’t say anything.

Suddenly Polly pushed the washing line up above his head, as far as he could reach.

Polly is about seven feet tall.

Steve is almost five feet short.

He looked at the t-shirt that was now helplessly flapping in his hands and Polly smiled.

They have been friends ever since.

But neither are very good patients.


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