Craic On

I’ve been cursing the turn of the month and the annual arrival of bees up the nose which are a fair indication that the start of a winter cold is upon me. Those bees really went for it. By day two they had made their way into ears and throat and had started to become a bit of a nuisance. No matter how much I coughed they weren’t going anywhere. They’d settled in to ensure a generous level of infection. It wasn’t honey. By day four, doubt crept in and settled. Should I get a Covid test? Probably. Better to be safe than sorry. So I went on line and booked it. Within the hour I was at the gates of the walk in test centre. It all went smoothly until it didn’t go smoothly. It didn’t go smoothly. “Just follow the instruction,” she said. “I can’t see them.” “The thing is, I’m not allowed to help you. You have to do it yourself. Hang on.” Then she vanished. “We don’t have any braille,” she said when she returned. “I can’t read braille. I’m more of a large print girl myself.” “I’m not allowed to help you and