Becoming Someone

He cruises through the troposphere, parting the clouds with his arms like a swimmer. Effortless: his body as light as a bride’s veil. He could go on like this for ever. Not going anywhere in particular. Just going.

Far below, the regular people are fussing about their homes and jobs and families, erecting the petty obstacles that make their world go round. Here in the realm of birds – whose chatter is only of the latest workout for wings, and the juiciness of slugs – he truly belongs.

On the first Tuesday of the month, I call in at the surgery for my prescription. Today there is a new lady on the reception. Her frizzy hair is the colour of a robin’s breast. She looks at my form and says, You can’t have your prescription until you’ve seen the doctor for a medication review.

So I go, Okay, and take a seat in the waiting area among the out-of-date magazines.

And she calls across, You can’t see him now. There are no more appointments left today.

So I go, Okay, give me one for tomorrow.

And she shakes her head and says, You can’t make an appointment at this time of day. You have to ring up between half-past eight and half-past nine in the morning.

So I go, Thank you, miss, and head back home.