Well, I guess that goes down as the best Saturday night out I've had in a long time. Sad commentary on my life though that may be. A trip to the John Smiths' Stadium (formerly the Alfred McAlpine Stadium, football fans), which I don't think I've been inside since I saw REM there back in the 90s.
Stood in line for about ten minutes, wondering why I was having my jab with all these old people, then sat down in a drafty corridor (the space heaters were glowing red even though it had been, and still was, a pleasantly warm day outside). A lady from St. John's Ambulance took down my details, before another lady from the NHS reeled off a speech she must surely have been sick of reciting, the gist of which appeared to be there are lots of unpleasant side effects, but I probably won't get any of them. I had Astra-Zeneca, so she made a special point of saying that it doesn't cause blood clots, but sometimes people who would have had blood clots anyway develop blood clots after it, and if I was one of them, I should call 999 immediately.
When I mentioned my history of fainting during injections (actually, it only happened one time; it was a very hot day and they were drawing a blood sample, but I always mention it), the nurse told me to talk to the St. John's Ambulance lady while I was having it done.
"What's that on your T-shirt?" she asked.
Greetings From Asbury Park, New Jersey. "It's Bruce Springsteen," I said.
And then it was over, and I drove home in the fading sunshine, ready for dose two in July.
This seemed appropriate...
