English Drugs
I'm happy to report that I have discovered what the glass dish I got with the lemon puff is for. It is a soap dish. At least, that's what the chambermaid seems to think, and I believe I'll go along with that for now.
It's raining today, the first day of the Midsummer Fair. I do want to get there, because the taxi driver told me that it's one of only three times in the calendar year when the travelers all get together, and I have never been amongst the travelers, so I wish to go. I don't really expect anything. I just want to go. Maybe when it stops raining.
But I'm very cheerful today, despite the rain, because I had, yesterday, one of those gawdawful days after which everything seems wonderfully better and shiny, just in comparison, and also I had a little encounter with the English pharmaceutical establishment that has also enhanced my cheeriness.
Yesterday morning, on my way over here to the Lion Yard, I slipped a bit on the uneven bricks (they're picturesque, is why they use them, I think), and twisted my ankle slightly. But it felt ok, and I thought -- boy, that sort of thing could be bad; if I couldn't walk around I'd have real trouble getting this work done -- and I went on into the Lion Yard, and came and did my email and wrote the blog, and then I walked on over to the University Library, and looked at manuscripts* and figured out Important Things like where are all the boy Christmas bishops from Ely (lost, that's where), and I felt fine, and I walked all around the Manuscript Room, and everything was great, and then all of a sudden at about 1:00 PM I ceased to be able to walk.
Now, my bones were ok, and my tendons were ok -- if not, I'd have known about it sooner -- but the pain became excruciating. I massaged my ankle, I flexed my ankle, I tried walking funny. Nothing worked.
I finished up my day in the Manuscript Room -- limping worse and worse as the afternoon went on, and finally sort of pulling myself along on tables -- very dramatic -- and then walked very gingerly -- still excruciating pain going on here -- across the river and into the city centre to the Boots and went to find the ibuprofen.
Now, let me explain here to the Americans that English pharmacies aren't like ours. In ours, there are many things we have to have a prescription for that the English don't. The Zyrtec that I take for my allergies, for instance, I need a prescription for in the States, but over here I don't. Also, there are three tiers to the drugs. There are things you can get off the shelf. There are things for which you need a prescription. But there are also things for which you need to ask the chemist, but you don't need a prescription.
Well, I found the ibuprofen, and I could have just got a box off the shelf, but there was a sign that said there was such as thing as ibuprofen PLUS, which you could get if you asked the chemist. So I did that, as I judged that my situation (far from home, few resources, no car, need to walk all over the city) required PLUS.
Bought the stuff. Got a taxi (hence my news about the travelers). Went back to the B&B.
Discovered that the ibuprofen was PLUS because it contained codeine, which an American pharmacist would never have handed over to me without a prescription.
I'm very careful with drugs. But I figured that the situation did indeed warrant the legitimate tablets I'd bought from a legitimate pharmacist for a legitimate purpose, so I took the two the box said was the dose, and made my tea, and lay down on my bed.
And in half an hour my foot felt much better. Soon after that, I became very happy. I saw that really, wrenching my foot and being in such pain was a good thing, as -- wait -- I know there was some reason. What the hell was it.
Well, anyway, the foot wrenching was good, for whatever reason. Also, the English version of Big Brother was an excellent TV show.
I even did some knitting, I was so cheerful. And when I got up, lo and behold, there was No Pain In My Foot Whatsoever. None.
I'm completely cured.
There's still no pain in my foot. I woke up this morning and I was still fine.
I see that I bought some powerful damn drugs, and I bless them, cause boy did I need them last night, and I have them with me, cause I'm afraid of the foot getting worse for no foreseeable reason, as it did yesterday, but I'm back to walking all over Cambridge and I'm mobile and I'm happy and I'm going to go look up some 18th century antiquarian transcriptions of the lost boy bishops.
And then later tonight, if I can find that Big Brother show, I'll see if it's really as good as I thought it was last night. And maybe I should check that knitting.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
*In the Manuscript Room, there are always helpful workers who are there because they're students on work study programs, stationed in the library, who have been sent to the Manuscript Room for no good reason except that they're not needed at the moment in the Map Room, so they don't really know the Manuscript Room very well, and they tend to make mistakes. But yesterday morning, I had ordered 10 manuscripts the night before, so as to be able to start in on them immediately when I got there (cause it normally takes about 30 minutes for the manuscripts you order to show up), and every single one of the manuscripts I ordered was the wrong one. Every. Single. Damn. One. There were 10. They got none right. I was very impressed. I think this was some sort of a record.
It's raining today, the first day of the Midsummer Fair. I do want to get there, because the taxi driver told me that it's one of only three times in the calendar year when the travelers all get together, and I have never been amongst the travelers, so I wish to go. I don't really expect anything. I just want to go. Maybe when it stops raining.
But I'm very cheerful today, despite the rain, because I had, yesterday, one of those gawdawful days after which everything seems wonderfully better and shiny, just in comparison, and also I had a little encounter with the English pharmaceutical establishment that has also enhanced my cheeriness.
Yesterday morning, on my way over here to the Lion Yard, I slipped a bit on the uneven bricks (they're picturesque, is why they use them, I think), and twisted my ankle slightly. But it felt ok, and I thought -- boy, that sort of thing could be bad; if I couldn't walk around I'd have real trouble getting this work done -- and I went on into the Lion Yard, and came and did my email and wrote the blog, and then I walked on over to the University Library, and looked at manuscripts* and figured out Important Things like where are all the boy Christmas bishops from Ely (lost, that's where), and I felt fine, and I walked all around the Manuscript Room, and everything was great, and then all of a sudden at about 1:00 PM I ceased to be able to walk.
Now, my bones were ok, and my tendons were ok -- if not, I'd have known about it sooner -- but the pain became excruciating. I massaged my ankle, I flexed my ankle, I tried walking funny. Nothing worked.
I finished up my day in the Manuscript Room -- limping worse and worse as the afternoon went on, and finally sort of pulling myself along on tables -- very dramatic -- and then walked very gingerly -- still excruciating pain going on here -- across the river and into the city centre to the Boots and went to find the ibuprofen.
Now, let me explain here to the Americans that English pharmacies aren't like ours. In ours, there are many things we have to have a prescription for that the English don't. The Zyrtec that I take for my allergies, for instance, I need a prescription for in the States, but over here I don't. Also, there are three tiers to the drugs. There are things you can get off the shelf. There are things for which you need a prescription. But there are also things for which you need to ask the chemist, but you don't need a prescription.
Well, I found the ibuprofen, and I could have just got a box off the shelf, but there was a sign that said there was such as thing as ibuprofen PLUS, which you could get if you asked the chemist. So I did that, as I judged that my situation (far from home, few resources, no car, need to walk all over the city) required PLUS.
Bought the stuff. Got a taxi (hence my news about the travelers). Went back to the B&B.
Discovered that the ibuprofen was PLUS because it contained codeine, which an American pharmacist would never have handed over to me without a prescription.
I'm very careful with drugs. But I figured that the situation did indeed warrant the legitimate tablets I'd bought from a legitimate pharmacist for a legitimate purpose, so I took the two the box said was the dose, and made my tea, and lay down on my bed.
And in half an hour my foot felt much better. Soon after that, I became very happy. I saw that really, wrenching my foot and being in such pain was a good thing, as -- wait -- I know there was some reason. What the hell was it.
Well, anyway, the foot wrenching was good, for whatever reason. Also, the English version of Big Brother was an excellent TV show.
I even did some knitting, I was so cheerful. And when I got up, lo and behold, there was No Pain In My Foot Whatsoever. None.
I'm completely cured.
There's still no pain in my foot. I woke up this morning and I was still fine.
I see that I bought some powerful damn drugs, and I bless them, cause boy did I need them last night, and I have them with me, cause I'm afraid of the foot getting worse for no foreseeable reason, as it did yesterday, but I'm back to walking all over Cambridge and I'm mobile and I'm happy and I'm going to go look up some 18th century antiquarian transcriptions of the lost boy bishops.
And then later tonight, if I can find that Big Brother show, I'll see if it's really as good as I thought it was last night. And maybe I should check that knitting.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
*In the Manuscript Room, there are always helpful workers who are there because they're students on work study programs, stationed in the library, who have been sent to the Manuscript Room for no good reason except that they're not needed at the moment in the Map Room, so they don't really know the Manuscript Room very well, and they tend to make mistakes. But yesterday morning, I had ordered 10 manuscripts the night before, so as to be able to start in on them immediately when I got there (cause it normally takes about 30 minutes for the manuscripts you order to show up), and every single one of the manuscripts I ordered was the wrong one. Every. Single. Damn. One. There were 10. They got none right. I was very impressed. I think this was some sort of a record.
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