We met our new GP this morning, who couldn't have been lovelier. I was just a touch nervous, as I guess anyone with chronic illness is when meeting a new GP, hoping that they get it without too much explanation. But she got it. Indeed, the doctor was one of these rare people who you have to deal with, who it turns out to be a pleasure to deal with.
The only negative is that this particular local health authority refuse to pay for certain drugs which are available over the counter drugs. The cost in itself isn't a problem; it will cost me just over £1 a week to pay for my own paracetamol. The problem is that buying the stuff without prescription, you can only buy thirty-two tablets at a time. That's four days' worth, if I'm taking maximum dose.
This rule was put into place as a suicide prevention measure. Paracetamol overdose provides a very nasty and very slow death through liver failure, but being cheap and widely available, it has long been a popular choice for self-poisoning. Truthfully, you would pretty much guarantee liver damage and risk complete liver failure and death if you took all thirty-two tablets, but not as much as if you took a hundred, which is how many I used to get on prescription (which was okay, because the prescribing doctor can judge that I wouldn't take them all at once).
There is, of course, nothing to stop you stockpiling or from buying several lots of thirty-two tablets from several different shops in the same day. Indeed, someone suggested that the real reasoning for this restriction hinges on the restorative mood-lifting powers of exercise; a brisk walk between the two chemists might be enough to make someone change their mind...
Unfortunately, this poses a logistic difficulty for me, since I can only buy four days worth from a given shop on a given day. After some calculation, the only long-term option is to ask help from my folks. If both my parents and ourselves buy paracetamol at every opportunity, and then get them to smuggle the goods over the Suffolk/Norfolk border in the dead of night (safe passage signaled by a torch flashing Morse Code), I should just about have enough.
In other news (News? What news? You're rambling on about nothing, woman!), I tried to make my hair purple and it failed. It changed the colour of my hair, and it is a fairly interesting colour, but far more reddy-brown than purple. I shall maybe photograph it when I have good light. I guess that it is because, despite coming into contact with nothing more nourishing than water and bicarbonate of soda (really), my hair is in pretty good condition; it's just not porous enough to take in the colour. I shall have to think again, especially as following your encouragement, I am quite determined.
Edited, Friday Morning: Here is my hair, having been dyed purple from a start of somewhat orange. It is probably a touch more purply and interesting than it looks in the photo, but not much.
I feel rather ashamed of this appalling photograph which demonstrates my inability to achieve (attempt) a straight parting, as well as the fact I am having something of a bad face day and look like I may have been dead for a few days. Ho hum, I don't care if you don't, you wanted to see my hair colour...