As I do most Fridays, I attended my usual skin clinic to get one of my skin cancers zapped. This time there was one on my forehead that was feeling pesky so I requested a shave biopsy. Because it looked ungood my obliging surgeon went a bit deep with the cut, which gave a greater bleeding problem. She sizzled the wound well with diathermy, however so I went home just with a big dressing on my forehead
That night the wound bled. Fortunately the dressing contained most of the blood but I did get enough leakage to give me a gory forehead. I looked a fright. So I had to find a doctor to at least refresh the dressings and clean up dried blood.
Finding a doctor who works on Saturday morning is not easy but luckily the nearest practice from me did have a doctor working. I got an appointment for 8:45am. She had a very Greek surname so I expected someone who looked Greek. She did not. She was actually a dream walking: A trim figure including bosom, looked good in jeans and had a nice dusting of freckles on her fair skin. She assured me however that she is in fact Greek. I have come across fair Greeks before but it is unusual.
Anyway, she cleaned me up a bit and put a big new dressing on so I felt able to carry on. I was down to host a men's dinner the next evening so that was important.
So next morning Joe and I had our usual Sunday breakfast with me still looking rather bad. Later that day, however, the dressing fell off, leaving just a little patch right over the wound. So later that morning I went to my usual medical practice -- which actually had two doctors working on a Sunday. I was seen by a very brown Indian who was friendly and very obliging. He allowed me to wash my face in a sink and stood by for the last of the dressings to come off. He then put on a new and rather small dressing. From that point on I had a clean face and a civilized looking dressing on so I was confident of carrying out my hostly duties.
I cooked up one of my standbys, a chili con carne, using a whole kilo of mince plus a couple of tins of beans. It worked well as usual -- assisted by certain sachets. We had it in my verandah, which always gets breezes. We had tinned fruit and icecream for dessert. JPH was rather amazed at our custom of cutting icecream.
There were five of us at the dinner -- our usual four plus JPH, a learned man but one with a lively sense of humor. We all had good things to say about Mr Trump and deplored the antics of his critics. We all know that Mr Trump has some rough edges but he probably needs that, considering the vast reforms he is tackling. He has virtually the whole of the Washington establishment criticizing and abusing him so you have to be very certain of yourself to remain undaunted by that.
Graham always brings something up from Victoria to add to the dinner and one of the things he brought this time was a box of of Coles assorted cracker biscuits. It was a really good selection. Recommendable. He also brought some "Timboon" craft whisky from near where he lives. And that was really good too. It is actually a single malt
For show and tell, Graham brought a long a nightlatch cylinder which he had partially disassembled to show us how it works. He is a qualified locksmith amid a myriad of other accomplishments so was also able to use it to show us how to pick a lock. Joe took a considerable interest in that. I have been doing amateur locksmithing since I was a kid so it's probably another example of like father, like son.
The conversation was wide ranging and vigorous. Graham and Chris had a lot to say and JPH had plenty of humorous interjections. Joe and I were the quiet ones, relatively speaking. I retired from the fray at about 9pm but Chris, Graham and JPH kicked on for about another hour.
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