Image © Yinglan
The tram came rattling along. It rattled as my life rattles. It’s what happens when you gravitate from one crisis to another. Today the tram was taking me to my doctor. I had been called back and I hated it when that message arrived. He would be so concerned the message would contain an appointment time.
So, off we go, rocking from side to side, thrown around as the tram, an aged tram, that like me is falling apart, rickety bits hanging on, urgent repairs needed for us both.
We part company in the High Street. I walk to the Doctor’s office, his receptionist her usual cheerful self doing nothing to settle my apprehension.
The Doctor calls me in looks down his glasses and read me another version of his riot act.
Chastised I walk back to the tram, this time it is waiting, not moving until it had loaded me, its fragile cargo and we rattle off home one last time.