Like a Longfin Eel

^a photo from last night’s dragon boating   A lot has happened in the last two weeks. My housemate got covid (mild) and I evacuated to higher ground to mates who I know through Whangarei connections (of all things!). A lovely Devon/Scottish couple who eat off tartan crockery that was given to them at their wedding in abundance, and they use every day in the hopes that it increases the chance of them smashing. Except it’s fairly robust. And the tartan is growing on them. Both are doctors of other specialities and their work rants were refreshing. R would practise the cello and J would fall asleep on the couch like a big cat. I digress. Some mates of mine from Auckland returned to Devon in a hurry, to be with their dying father (/father in law). Visiting hours meant that his own wife could only visit an hour a day when he was in hospital. And she was his only permitted visitor. I would sneak onto the ward in plain sight (with my scrubs, with my name tag) and sit with him when I could...

I’m sitting on the edge of an old umbrella to keep from getting wet as I sit on the footpath next to a busy intersection. J has his fists stuffed into his jeans pockets as he stands in the wind. Occasionally, he shudders in a “super shiver”, unable to hold it in. He’s not wearing a jacket. He dances a little on the spot, and the silver rescue blanket he’s standing on lifts a bit. I’m on J’s phone, while trying to figure out the postcode of where we are on my phone, when there are no houses nearby. It’s a bit pointless, it becomes clear that no ambulance is likely to be available for a few hours yet. It’s already been an hour since we first called.  The man on the phone tells me to order a taxi. I try several companies. They too, are booked out for the next three hours. I don’t know anyone in town with a car. We are less than 2k from the hospital.  Mr. F stirs from under J’s jacket, trying to get up. “I’ll just walk to the hospital!” He mutters. He leans on his bad arm and yell...