Full Metal Wheelbarrow

The ultrasound scan seemed to go OK. I was a bit concerned that the scan lady called in one of her colleagues and they were both pulling worried faces at the machine, but they assured me that this was because of the difficulty of interpreting the picture they were getting rather than because there were any horrors thereon. Apparently real ovaries and uteri don't always sit nicely in the exact places where the textbooks say they should, which can make reading the scan data a bit more difficult than you might expect.

Anyway, I was sent away after twenty minutes or so, with the needful ball of string to help me find my way back to the car park. I went a bit wrong en route and found a charity bookstall, which would have been good if they'd had any books  I wanted.

So then I did battle with the car park pay machine, which disdainfully rejected two of my pound coins, but accepted the others after I'd sworn at it volubly, and then trundled around to the other side of the roundabout whereon the hospital sits, to Aldi, where I bought Cake. And Lemon Meringue PIe.

I then came home to wait for the roof man, who arrived ten minutes early and declared we had not one displaced tile, but two broken ones, which needed little lead hats putting on them, which he could do now for fifty quid. I consulted Rob who agreed with me that this was a small price to pay for not having a leaky roof and the roof man went and fetched his two chums from the van, scooted up the ladder and fixed the tiles in about twenty minutes. Which, given the forecast for tonight seems like a Good Thing.