There and back again

I'm a little hungover today, but more on that story later.

Five o'clock yesterday, and into town with Alicia for her doctor's appointment and after a brief kerfuffle about which address to send any correspondance to (and she really should be registered at the doctor's in Chapeltown) we went in to see Dr Taylor, who, contrary to my expectations of a crusty old Dr Finlay style gp turned out to be a very nice young asian woman doctor. The routine was much the same as with my doctor the previous day (although in that case Dr Santiago did turn out to be a dashing young spanish chap) - decipher the letter from the optician, check for any other problems and then write the referral to the clinic. It's four to six weeks for an appointment, apparantly.

Back to the car, pausing only for a brief look in Rare and Racy, an aladdin's cave of a second hand book shop. A ten minute browse was not enough - "It has two floors!" screeched Alicia as I dragged her out. I rang my friend Andrew to check we were still on for going out for a drink, just as I drove past the pub I would later be returning to.

A quick sandwich at home, and then on to the bus to Shalesmoor and the Cask and Cutler, a splendid little real ale pub that serves the best beer in Sheffield. The pub is right by the Shalesmoor tram stop and has a friendly dog and a rather tubby cat who are constantly on the prowl for stray crisps on the floor. I had three pints of Rhinegold, an interesting beer that was a golden pale ale, almost like a lager in appearance but fabulously smooth and refreshing on a warmish summers night, and I finished off with a pint of Durham White Gold which was similar but not quite as good.

I had a good time, catching up with Andrew who I hadn't seen for far too long. We nattered about our respective exes and I concluded that while men may not be left holding the baby, they tend to get lumped with the awkward teenagers ...