Thursday 1st May 2014

While walking through the covered Mersey Square with Sam, I had noticed a ‘Check it!’ stand inviting members of the public to have their blood pressure checked. I had my blood pressure checked in recent years where it took three separate appointments for the nurses to be satisfied with my readings. I think most of the life style things are on the right side of the line – non smoker, middling alcohol intake with only sugar teetering on the wrong side. But I have concerns about Ed’s condition making him raise the volume levels when confronted with adversity and I wonder about the effect of the resulting tensions.

I was offered this test by a lady circulating around an open health check desk and was happy to accept. I waited in a chair to be seen to, and Sam was similarly seated with his ‘Don’t Question it, Check it!’ red balloon.  The lady told me that she was looking for adults over forty as a target demographic for getting into the habit of assessing blood pressure.

When it was my turn, I confirmed my status as a non-smoker and mentioned my three visits (‘that’s normal’ said the nurse).  After some vigorous tightening of my arm the nurse said the reading was fine: 125/86 which is apparently fine although looking at the chart it was on the ‘high normal’ side.  There was no advice other than continuing to have it checked with my Doctor’s Surgery.

Towards the end of Mersey Square, we realised that our balloon had broken free from the white stick it was attached to.  We turned around and saw it bobbing about ten metres back but when I reached it, the contact made was enough to pop it eliciting a great big bang on this High Street. Sam started bawling out.  I was careful not to look up and notice any shoppers that were doubtless surveying the bang and baby crying scene.  I initially turned away but thought it wasn’t good to leave this bit of rubber on the High Street.  I returned with the ragged bits which made Sam cry all the more.  I assured him I’d return to the nurse’s stall and get a new red balloon.

After buying groceries, we went to the bus station to our usual stop to catch the 307.  It was in its familiar bay from where it departs to eventually join our stop having been compelled to complete its lap around the station along the one way routes.  However, after the usual time had elapsed, our bus didn’t rematerialize. There was some mutterings among our queue before a worker advised that there were road works probably holding up its progress.  More minutes passed. It looked like it had well and truly departed. Sam asked ‘Why are we still waiting for the bus?’

 We decided to set off for a different bus stop where I calculated that the 313 bus would shortly depart and which similarly stops near our road.  I found no-one else there and a re-jigged timetable – it will not be here for another twenty minutes.  I saw a 372 bus and asked if they come near to our parts.  ‘No – that will be the 374’.  I found a 310 bus and asked if they came near.  ‘No’ said the driver, his eyes already back on the paper that was folded out in front of him.  A generous member of the public, must have sensed some bewilderment as she came off this bus and told me that I could catch the 313, a generous public gesture.   I think, if I had had my blood pressure checked at this moment, it would have been slightly higher than the 325/86 recorded earlier. Or was that that the number on other bus numbers I had canvassed?