Yours, Siobhan Let’s do this together

I’m not allowed to meet The Dark Lord outside school in case anyone thinks she’s related to me, so we met two streets away to walk together to the train station after school on Monday.

The nearest place I’d been able to book a Covid vaccine for TDL meant travelling 10 miles, which can be tricky if you no longer have a car or the ability to sprout wings.

I worked out that if we caught the 3.32pm to Southampton, we’d be able to get her jab at 4.20pm in a pharmacy in Totton, and with a quick turnaround catch the 4.44pm train back home.

I also took the Bozza-now-four-bellies with us as he still needs the exercise. But TDL stood on the train platform packed with school students as far away from me as possible, her earphones firmly plugged in. Except nobody told Bozza we had to pretend she was a stranger, and he kept trying to jump up at her. “Can you control your dog?” she snapped at me.

I laughed like a drain. “Well I can’t control you, so I have no hope with the idiot.”

Eventually she thawed out and we sat on a bench together companionably.

“Isn’t this nice? Much better than a car,” I said, trying to be friendly, but then all my best laid plans fell apart. The train was late, we missed our connection, and had to get on a packed bus from Southampton to Totton. Then we got off at the wrong stop and had to leg it to the pharmacy.

It was now 4.24pm and I began to worry we wouldn’t make the train home.

Taking TDL into a room behind the pharmacy counter, one of the assistants made a fuss of Bozza as we waited, and gave me some free mini Fisherman’s Friends which now come in a fruity range, not just blow-your-brains-out flavour.

The lady giving TDL the injection called me in and asked the medical reason for the jab. “She has asthma,” I told her.

“No I haven’t,” piped up TDL. I glared at her. We didn’t have time for dissension in the ranks.

“I haven’t had it since I was eight,” she insisted, with her sleeve rolled up.

I gave her one of those shut-up-and-don’targue looks, and explained: “She has asthma, but she’s forgotten.”

Jab done and out of the chemist, I looked at the time. “We have six minutes to get the train!” I gasped, breaking into a jog.

“When’s the next one?” asked TDL, who hasn’t broken a sweat since 2019.

I called back: “Not for another hour. RUN.” We only just made it, and as we sank into our seats, suddenly Bozza’s retractable lead was pulled urgently as he took off on a snack rampage across the filthy train carpets.

I had to reel him in from under the seats, and when I got him back, I nearly dropped him again.

“Urgh,” gagged TDL as we looked in horror at the small, white tampon clenched in his jaw.

“Dear Lord, thank goodness it’s not used,” I said, trying to wrestle it out of his mouth.

The train slowed to a crawl and we didn’t get back until 6pm.

“Soz about all that, but we’re home now,” I said to TDL, and gave her a friendly punch. “Owwww,” she screamed. “That’s my vaccine arm.”

It’s not all bad news though. TDL’s very painful Covid vaccine arm now means no PE this week.

How far have you travelled for your Covid jab? Email me at siobhan.mcnally@mirror.co.uk or write to Community Corner, PO Box 791, Winchester SO23 3RP.

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