Easy As Winning Gold Medals!
by: >^^< the wonder cat.
part: 380

Hospitals are boring at the best of times. I'd read the latest Cycling Weekly, Procycling and Cyclesport several times. Lunch was far from inspiring - hotpot, with a novelty twist, it was cold. The old lady across from me asked me what I had ordered.

"Lancashire hotpot, I don't think it's what I got though."

"Me neither, but eat it quick before it clots."

We both laughed and managed to force down about a third of the rapidly congealing goo. "Not hungry?" said the nurse as she collected the plates a little later.

"Not for that, I'm not."

"The sweet is spotted dick."

"Okay, I hope it's warmer than that was."

"Why, was it cold?"

"See that big lump there?" I said to her.

"There?" she said pointing gingerly.

"That's a baby iceberg in the making."

She laughed and brought the sweet. "Hey this isn't spotted dick."

"Yes it is," she said, "they just gave it some penicillin." It was actually syrup sponge.

"You're right, I can taste the penicillin," I called after her.

"That's not penicillin, that's the bromide in the custard, to stop us attacking the doctors."

"Does it work on women as well then?" I asked unaware if it did or not.

"When did you last fancy a doctor?" she asked.

"I take your point," I answered, not really fancying any of them, although I think that may have been down to an aesthetic thing rather than chemicals in the food.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

"Some cycling magazines."

"Ach, they're no good to me. Funny thing for a girl to read."

"I'm a keen cyclist," I replied, "more at home with bike chains than knitting."

"God, you're like my late hubby, he liked his bike when we were younger. Used to ride miles we did, or 'e did, we 'ad a tandem at one point, went to Brighton on it one weekend - couldn't walk for a week, nor sit down!" She began to laugh and then she wheezed. " 'ark at me now, couldn't ride to save me life."

"It nearly killed me too."

" 'ow come? Did you crash or summat?"

"No, I got stabbed by some lunatic as I was going up Portsdown hill."

"I 'eard about that, you're married to some local nob, ain't ya?"

"Simon, yeah, he's Lord Cameron."

"So does that make you Lady Muck, then?"

"Only before I shower, afterwards, I'm Lady Clean."

She laughed until her chest caught up with her, and she coughed and wheezed, her chest doing it's impression of a demented cement mixer. "Do you race on your bike?"

"That was the intention until the lunatic stabbed me, caught me in the lung."

"Why did he attack you?"

"I have no idea, I'd never met him or anything as far as I know."

"They ought to bring back hanging, that'd sort these swine out."

"I don't think it would," I felt strongly against the death penalty.

"Oh yes it would, you mark my words young woman, I've been around a bit longer than you. We didn't have all these stabbings and things then."

"I don't know, in the eighteenth century, when they hanged you for practically anything, stabbings happened. Footpads and highway robbers were fairly common, hanging didn't stop them."

"That was very long ago, I mean more since the last war, it's got crazy with all these do-gooders, bloody criminals have more rights than the victims."

"Yeah, you tell her, Myrtle, said the woman in the next bed to her, "those that were 'anged, never did it no more, did they?"

Admittedly, I couldn't argue against that statistic, the problem was, it needed incontestable evidence that they'd done it in the first place. There have been so many controversial cases of wrongful convictions for loads of different reasons, that capital punishment just wasn't safe. Even if it was, I'd be against it. Killing is wrong, one of the few things I agree with in the Bible, although much of that supposedly sacred text seems to either exhort or excuse the dreadful deed.

I enjoyed the conversation, despite its somewhat morbid subject; it passed the afternoon. Eventually Simon arrived.

" 'ere, look aht girl, 'ere's Lord Muck. Where's yer white charger then?"

Simon looked at me, I was sniggering. He pointed at himself with regard to the conversation. I nodded.

"My charger? Erm, yes, it's tethered in the car park. You know hospitals these days, no consideration for visitors or patients. Are you ready, Darling." He laid on the lah-de dah element with a trowel.

"Coming, Darling," I cooed back.

He picked up my bag, and looking around the ward said, "Well, toodle pip."

Not to be outdone, I waved and called, "Chin chin, eh what?" Then we got outside and laughed ourselves silly.

"What was that all about?" he asked. I explained the afternoon's activities from congealed cold-pot, to a debate upon capital punishment.
"Sounds like the House of Lords."

"Do you have a seat there, then?"

"No, they stopped a lot of that a few years ago. Only selected peers now and I'm not politically motivated. I certainly wouldn't accept the party whip, I do my own thing, so I be a cross-bencher much of the time."

"I think you have quite a nice disposition, I think you'd be more a nice bencher."

He laughed and explained that it meant the 'cross' bit related to where they sat between the major party groups.

We strolled out to the car park and he showed me the car, a convertible Jaguar XK. It was a very pretty car. "What do you call her?"

"I hadn't even thought of that? What do you think we should call her?"

"Erm, how about, Sylvie?"

"Sylvie? Where does that come from?"

"Well, she's silver coloured, and I think it fits her, don't you?"

"If you think so, then it's fine with me." He hugged me and we kissed.