This morning I saw the sky south of where the sun was coming up go red then blue from a bedroom in Baildon.

I saw the sun disappear behind clouds as it was setting, then the sky go from blue, through steel, to black between Doncaster and just south of Stevenage.

The trip was booked months ago.

Yesterday my ma phoned me in the middle of a Christmas shopping (inc. free trotters from Kings Buthchers on New Hey Road) trip.

She said I was expected to go with her to her doctors at 17.00. My ticket meant I would not be there until 18.15 at the earliest.

Yesterday I also had the evil receptionist at the Park Lane General Medical piss-take (BD5) tell me that it was: …time you took responsibility for you own health. I have blogged about this practice before. They stopped doing diabetic clinics because they could not make enough money from them. Patients can only book an appointment within the next 14 days. The receptionists and the numb nut at Boots next door say I cannot get a repeat prescription without an annual review. So I am being threaten with being killed by lack of insulin by a business that has surrendered input to my diabetes; which employ receptionists that would get the sack from any Jobcentre for lack of customer care.

As a exact comparison my mother’s medical practice phoned me twice yesterday to try and fix an appointment for a time I might be able to get there for. My GP’s only call me when I have officially complained.

All my trains were late today, and despite running, my taxi (driven by a bloke whose first home in the UK was a street away from my second home in Bradford) dropped me at ma’s doctors just as her neighbour: Veebica (who I had called yesterday, bless her) was escorting her to her car.

Good news! Mother has probably just been over doing it. I had assumed that from her doctors call yesterday, but I could not be sure. I will use this as moral blackmail. She fecking well walked to the doctor’s yesterday with a pain in her chest, then phoned me tired and in a panic. I would have paid whatever it cost to get down for an emergency, but the Spanish doctor just needed someone who can understand her Karelain accent; and Veebica the Danish neighbour can.

Yesterday I went to my doctor’s after ma’s call because I am down to my last few blood testing strips. I could not book an appointment within 14 days until I knew how ill my mother was. I got aggressive patronisation from a woman who does not know her job. It’s my fault for not trying to change doctors.

Best thing is my mother is ok, and I only spent an extra pound on a taxi. The fear and running adds to the story; and I may be able to make changes for the better in lives. Maybe even my own.

I am a little light headed.