It was my birthday at the weekend.
Not quite a landmark; sort of in between actually; but then, you are only 20 once. Though the actual day itself was a total wash out.
At around 12pm, HP, my lovely american flatmate, rolls in from her 'night away'. She takes a shower, and then decides that she needs to go to A&E. Right now.
So we wait. And wait. And wait. For 3 long hours. Of course, you have to take into account that HP isn't used to waiting. In the States you see, you pay and get seen immediately. She turned into one of those irritating people in Casualty or Holby City who bug the nurses for attention every five minutes. To be fair to her, a person with a suspected broken toe (it turned out to be 'just a stub') was seen before her, and she was having chest pains.
When we got home, I readied myself for a night out while she called her mother to bitch and moan about the hospital system in the UK. Didn't bother mentioning that healthcare is free over here.
I went out without her, got very drunk and wasn't quite sure where I ended up. Think cocktails were consumed at sone point. I learned the next day that we got thrown out of Wetherspoons.
fantastic.
By the way, HP's illness? Toncillitis. Oh yes. The chest pains probably were related to the fact that, when she actually eats something, its a whole load of crap. Bless her. she knows that she is a pain in the arse.
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