The Landlady has a less than relaxing time
I know I get to travel a great deal, but this doesn’t necessarily mean that I am ‘on holiday’. To me, the conjunction ‘on holiday’ should indicate that the holidaying person is relaxing, well away from any stressful situation, hopefully with a large gin and tonic in the hand and either a sea or pool view. My most recent trip to West Africa involved none of the aforementioned things apart from the stressful situation. I arrived at the airport at 2.30 in the afternoon, to be greeted by The Boyfriend with his leg in plaster. He had apparently been involved in a motorbike accident the day before, where his foot had come into high-speed contact with an ill-placed lamp post. I had thought it rather odd that he’d left me an answerphone message in the middle of the night asking for a selection of very strong pain-killers. His injuries had not been helped by the fact that he was wearing flip-flops at the time.
“Rather than having the nice time I’d been planning, I would be mainly occupied as nurse and drive”
It soon dawned on me that, rather than having the nice time I’d been planning in the sun, eating nice food, drinking ice cold beer and running bare-foot along the beach, I would be mainly occupied as nurse and driver. Nurse is one thing but driver, with little experience, no licence and a road full off nutters all driving on the wrong side is entirely another.
To make matters worse, my first taxi-driving trip the following morning was to be to a hospital appointment – although appointments, it later transpired do not actually exist – in the busy capital city. My nervousness behind the wheel was further exacerbated by the fact that The Boyfriend’s cousin, who is a police woman, came along with us and was sitting behind me in the back seat in full uniform, totally unaware that I had no driving licence.
In the end though, she did turn out to be a bit of a godsend as she got us speedily through police road blocks and also jumped the snaking hospital queues as she had the doctor’s mobile number. The hospital was not fit for the fighting fit, let alone those fighting for their life and I silently thanked God for the NHS.
After a second hospital appointment – by which time I was driving like Lewis Hamilton, by the way – I decided The Boyfriend should be gently coaxed back to the UK, as I was becoming more and more convinced that the doctors hadn’t a clue what they were doing. Two days after arriving back in the UK, The Boyfriend had major surgery on his foot and the doctors claimed he would have had a great deal of trouble in the future had he not returned to the UK when he did.
I am off on holiday soon to Turkey with a friend from The Supermarket, which should be an actual holiday, as long as neither of us break any bones, that is.
