Saturday, 5th September, 2026
What does it say about me that I started typing the year with 19..? Ouch.
I’ve had a gooey, beyond-itchy eye, so I decided to call the on-call eye resident at Western Hospital (listed in my post-surgery notes). He suggested I go to the clinic at 6. I got there to find two people ahead of me. The resident checked me out and, after pushing on my eyelid for a while, told me I had either a blocked duct or a mild infection. He’d be calling my surgeon and asking them to get me in for advice. Meanwhile, I should try warm compresses and some massage. If I didn’t hear from the surgeon’s office by Tuesday, give them a call. I had a nice long walk after that, pleased with how well I seemed to be walking. When I was three bus stops away, I heard music. The Portuguese church had a concert to honour a religious festival going on, so with a long wait for the next streetcar, I settled in to watch the show. I must check out when the next festival is. The whole thing reminded me of being in Torino, where the concertgoers love to join in with the local dances.
On Wednesday I thought about going for a walk, but the skies had looked dark. I decided to wait a little while. I called the eye surgeon and left a message to call me back to come in. Then an alert came over the phone.
It was horrific. The skies were dark and heavy, bearing down. The rain began. Hail followed. The trees were whipping around. From the bathroom window, the scene was apocalyptic. I half expected to see Dorothy’s house fly by, but instead the tarpaulin from the patio downstairs was in danger of sailing off. Not so bad. While it passed eventually and the sky got brighter, the rain continued. It was an ‘interesting’ experience.
The next day I had a great plan. I would go down to the supermarket and then to the fabric recycle shop. I had been putting this off for weeks. This was the start of One of Those Days. The supermarket visit went well, though.
I got a bag of groceries and set off on my way to the recycle place, ready to take photos this time and leave with yarn, more lace and fabric. My last visit had not been long enough. I arrived to find it closed. Oh no! Understandable, though. I don’t know when I’ll get back. I’m busy for the next couple of Thursdays. Crossing my fingers for them.
Mind you, West Queen West always cheers me up with its colourful signs and shop windows. Grateful for that because it meant I wasn’t entirely let down by getting out there.
Then the flips and flops started. I’ll understand if you flip past it.
The eye surgeon’s office finally called me. I explained the situation, and they asked me to come in a couple of weeks. I protested. I was then offered something sooner that clashed with something else. Would I see another doctor, they asked? Yes! Can you come in at 3, they asked? It was 2pm and I wasn’t so far away. Yes! I arrived and waited. They promised an hour and a half – it was two. Eventually I went in for an initial eye test. I couldn’t read much on the eye chart with my right eye. She was surprised. Didn’t you just have surgery, she asked. Yes, I said, but it was for near vision. You should be able to read the chart, she insisted. Yes, I said, I’ve told the surgeon. Blame me! She then began dilating both my eyes. Why are they being dilated, I asked. I have one possibly infected eyelid. Oh, she answered, the doctor won’t need them fully dilated then. But I waited. After a while went in for the bright light one and follow-my-finger exam – there was a short look at my eyelid. Then they repeated the diagnosis from the emergency doctor. Either a blocked duct or a mild infection, we’ll give you some ointment. I was hopeful to be handed some, but they handed me a prescription. After booking for a follow-up in two weeks, I went down to the pharmacy. I waited again. After about ten minutes, they came out to tell me, this isn’t covered. Of course, I said. Do you still want it? Of course, I said. It’ll be $40, they said. Of course, I said. And I waited for it. Out at the streetcar stop, the wait was going to be long. While in the drugstore, I’d seen three streetcars go by. I resigned myself to the wait when I discovered I didn’t have my sunglasses. Back to the drugstore I went, hoping that I wouldn’t miss this streetcar too. Not there. Back to the stop, where I found my glasses. On top of my head. Of course! At the transfer bus stop I had several minutes to wait, but when the bus arrived, it stopped several metres from the stop and everyone surged ahead. I went as quickly as I could to the door, where the door was closed in my face. Too full. Two more buses came by, empty but not stopping. The third let us all on. I was too tired to care. I’ll leave it there.
The next day while walking, I didn’t see too much damagein the neighbourhood. I found a few downed branches, but that was about it. In the neighbourhood to the south, a wonderful willow tree went down. I’d photographed it two years earlier but hadn’t had a chance to go back. I’m glad I have a photo, but it’s gone. It did help to read that willow trees are actually short-lived, fifty to seventy years. This one had been planted in the 70s.
There are things to smile at.
That’s it really. Everything is another chapter of flips and flops. Some are more interesting than others.
Liberty, a London luxury, is a sharp contrast to the often shabby back streets of Soho. But it also backs onto Carnaby Street and, along with the rest of the world, in 1960s London I loved any excuse to at least window shop there. Carnaby Street isn’t the untidy jumble of independent shops it used to be. Now it’s full of midrange franchises with only a touch of the bohemian and bizarre. It is a passage that feels transitional, merging beatnik Soho gently into Regent Street splendour.
