The genius in London and I were shooting the breeze.As usual the subject had fast-tracked itself to the contradictions inherent in life in Ireland.On this occasion it was the attempt I am currently making to get the HSE to arrange a temporary Home Help while I'm on crutches. I hadn't mentioned the crutches ? Extraordinary. As readers will know I am not usually given to stoicism. But briefly, they came about when I presented myself to my friendly neighbourhood vet and asked him for a diagnosis of my state - as if I had been a horse.He took a measured look and said I buggered up a tendon somewhere in the groin-thigh area and he unearthed the crutches. Since then, they have been my only method of locomotion.
Now ten days later, the state of the house has deteriorated to the point where even I notice it. Therefore having given my predicament a lot of thought, I decided to call on the Heath Service for help.In theory they should have been chomping at the bit.
In practice I discovered that getting them to act involved filling out a form which asked probing questions about my mental state, the level of incontinence I experience, and finally demnded that I return the completed form by post. And there's the rub. How can I get to a post box when I can neither walk nor drive and a written note specifically denies me permission to email them.
As I was saying, the genius and london and I were tossing this one about when he called a halt to the fun by declaring that I was up to my tonsils in a Kafka-esque situation.
That was enough to launch the morning chat onto a different tack and after only 20 minutes or so, I heard myself using the word " exponentially" , without even blushing.
At this stage the genius pointed out that we had conducted a conversation before the crack of noon, in the course of which the words Kafka-esque and exponential had both cropped up and since it was unlikely that we'd be able to keep that standard up we'd better call it quits while we were ahead.
And still no sign of the revolution.