In which the Rodent spends a lot of time with one taxi driver.

First he took me to the hospital, for my pain clinic appointment. I went in, announced myself, handed over the letter, had it explained to me in small words that today is Wednesday the 16th of January, and not Tuesday the 15th of January. Or, as I'd been thinking, Wednesday the 15th. At least I had the right month.

They don't redo appointments for first timers who fail to show. Unless they're very, very stupid - apparently rank daftness gives you a free pass. I think I'll get Pol to enter my new appointment in the calendar so this doesn't happen again.

So then I called for a taxi, and they said back to $street? I said no, to the railway station. Back comes the driver, surprised to see me so soon and thinking he was taking me home again. I explained about being daft and wanting to buy train tickets while he took me to the railway station, where I bought train tickets, turning down late-night travel for £14 and plumping for a £62 return in the afternoon. Rush hour travel would be £245. It's not where you go, it's when you go...

Back into the same taxi, this time to home, as expected. We talked about train tickets and the prices, and then travel to Spain, and then about Seville! That was an easy subject, although he knew the parts I wasn't so aware of. I discovered I can't remember the name of any of the districts.

Now in and sitting down reluctant to move again today, and with Moth purring her heart out by my side, just where I can reach out and scratch her head. She seems happier now she's got wet food and will forgive me for yesterday soon.

Moth's fit and well and vaccinated, but she does not like being in a car for hours at a time, so we're changing vet. It's a shame, because Crown House Vets in Rochdale have been excellent to us and I don't want to leave. Moth disagrees, especially if she has to travel for an hour, then get rained on all the way to the door, then stuck with a needle (the part she minds least because she looooooooves vets), then back again, and, horror of horrors, not even a drop of evaporated milk, or even tuna cat food. Just dry biscuits and water. Poor cat.

Thanks to Pol, this deficit has since been remedied.