Cut toes and the problems of foreign holidays

 Age brings a number of disabilities, some major others usually minor, but even trivial ones can blow up to cause problems. One of these is an inability to bend sufficiently to cut my own toe nails, so after a few futile aims with the scissors, I asked Ann to cut them. She responded with great enthusiasm, unfortunately unmatched by technical ability. She seized the clippers and began snipping, but unfortunately snipped a few of my toes as well. Blood spattered the bathroom floor, and she reluctantly surrendered the clippers and went for a plaster. I thought it was time to turn to the experts, so a contrite Ann found and phoned a local chiropodist in Haverhill, and today I limped into her surgery. 

We'd had our friends round the night before, Robin and Yvonne and Rae and Malcolm who knew the chiropodist and warned me she could be garrulous. I bared my feet and lay on the couch, but before she began to either cut or speak, we were interrupted by fierce shouting from the street outside, and she rushed out to see what was happening. It was too early in the morning for drunks, but there is a big problem with drugs in the area so it may have been drug-related. The chiropodist thought there was also a problem with mental health patients, many of whom are treated in the community and refuse to take their medication. Whatever the cause, there was a big police presence for one man, and they were still there when I left the chiropodist half an hour later. I had dropped Ann off at Rae and Malcolm's on the way in, and returned to pick her up and share coffee and a cake. 

Meanwhile, Edwin is on holiday in Lanzarote with Andre and two of their friends. He phoned last night to say he has a high temperature and swollen throat. Today he saw a doctor and had a nasal swab test for corona virus and is awaiting the result. If he is positive, they will all be confined to the house they've rented, and won't be able to fly home, so it's a big deal.