Registration, and the Sims

I went round to the Health Centre to register today, and I waited for ages and ages and finally it was my turn and I started to go into the room of the next available doctor, but he gave me a very discouraging look and said, Let me finish a few things first! because I must have known that one was to wait before entering although every single person who had gone before me had not waited and I had no reason to suppose that waiting was in any way necessary, bother them. He looked proper fussy, too. But while I was waiting a very nice lady asked me to come into her office because it was now available, and so I did not have to go chat with the fussy bearded gentleman who–for all we know!–could actually have been Satan in disguise.

But the nurse was very sweet and she was delighted by my accurate knowledge of my vaccination dates. She said, “You are the first–very first–person who has come in with all of their proper vaccination dates.” I explained that it was not I but my mother, and she looked at me with great contentment and said, “Well, you must tell her that I love her!”

(Quite rightly.)

Last night I discovered that Lovely Flatmate Trish is a Sims addict! Like I once was! We had a merry chat about the fun games we used to play with our Sims, like the one where Mortimer would hit on his daughter Cassandra in my truly and inexplicably bizarre Goth family, and the one where we would talk to our real-life siblings in Simlish BECAUSE WE COULD (”Deesh vrow is vrenijay! An een robitushnash ana eestoffagan–jeetow nani!”), and the one where we would make a whole family of mean people who were so tidy that they clapped their wee Sim hands every time they flushed the toilet and then eventually we got sick of everyone fighting all the time and walled them up in individual brick enclosures with no toilet and no shower (and did that ever piss them off, those evil tidy Sim bastards!) and no food and no bed so they cried all the time and wet themselves and had no place to sleep and nothing to eat and nobody to talk to and then eventually they just died. (Yeah, that was a good one.)

Apparently Trish’s mum was always fussing at Trish and her sister for wasting all their time with a stupid game, but then one evening they told her to try it and the next morning she was still at it. Apparently she loves making more and more and more babies (she must be mad; I hated having the stupid babies–it was grand when it was all clapping siblings and daffodils, but NOBODY SLEPT and then everyone died and then the social worker came and took that poor baby away from us). Apparently she gets very cross if, and I quote, the mum and dad make woo-woo and don’t have a baby.

So I’ll just leave you with that thought.