An orderly queue is forming at the medical centre. It’s time for my second jab.
We’re ushered into the car park by a close friend’s husband, who asks ‘Vaccination?’ in the same manner as Michael Palin in the role of the kindly centurion in Life of Brian.
I stand behind the woman who runs the health food shop. She doesn’t recognise me in the mask but I’ve a good eye for faces, even those that are partly covered up.
When I get to the door, I realise there are two queues and the other one is quicker than mine, which is always the way but it’s not too long a wait in any case.
Inside, there’s a lady in scrubs wearing a name badge. I don’t need to see it to know she is the woman who my daughter went to after school, some thirty-five years ago when I was a single mother.
From the warmth of the indoor queue, I look out through the window. I can see my hairdresser outside. She is masked but I know it’s her by the sunflower hairclip.
It’s much less like a queue for a theme park ride this time. More a trip down memory lane. There are lots of people here I know.
In room three, I roll up my sleeve and get jabbed. Good work.
And then it’s home for a walk around the lanes. The light is fantastic.
My thanks to all the brilliant NHS staff and volunteers for making everything as painless and as cheerful as possible. Down here, in this part of Dorset, the vaccination programme is storming ahead.
That’s about it. Keep safe.
Love, Maddie x