Experienced traveler double0hilly
suggested that I check to see if the hotel had a doctor. This was very sensible. The hotel does have some kind of NHS number and registration with a doctor in general practice around the corner, and the hotel made the appointment for me and a lovely woman my age named Katie took me to the doctor and we girltalked until I was called in - the appointment took less than five minutes and there was no nonsense about measuring and weighing and taking a full history - the doctor had me in to her office, I told her that I'd had either a bad cold or allergies and that all had passed other than the broken glass feeling in my throat and throb in my ear, she looked in my throat and pronounced it a bad infection, said (alarmingly) "Well, there's no abscess, so it's not diptheria!" (!!!! that still exists?) and that it certainly hadn't been allergies, and gave me a prescription for seven days of penicillin. 2 tablets four times a day. I would have much preferred a Z-pack (the last one I had was for a severe case of bronchitis about five years ago and I was better within two days) but when I ventured the question I was rebuffed firmly. Penicillin, then. I gather that they think of zithromax as being an advanced/special/rare use or something.
Penicillin seems a little weird and old-fashioned or old-timey or something. Like being given laudanum for the ladyvapors. I think erythromycin is the most commonly used one in the States, and Zithromax if you're allergic to the erythromycin. I think we don't use penicillin as much because it has bad side effects? But I can't remember.
Anyway, any antibiotics is better than no antibiotics. She says if I'm not feeling better by Friday to come back in, so I'll be there first thing Friday morning if that's the case.
Knowing now that I was made really very ill during my wretched stay at ghastly Vine Farm - damp sheets, cold room, no heat, bizarre proprietors with weird ideas - I will admit that I have no intention at all of returning the keys which I had to take with me as the Wackos were nowhere in evidence the morning I left, and fully intend to add them to my souvenir windchime. I don't give a fig if that was the only bedroom key: bite me, jerks! They wrote to me demanding that I return the keys, their 10 year old and badly out of date (as I discovered) map book, and to account for the whereabouts of another book, which also inadvertently made the trip with me as I shovel-packed from the bed to the bag. I note that they make no mention of my hair dryer, which I forgot in the bathroom and will miss as it was a rare! out of print! diffuser called the "Conair Curl Dazzler" - obviously they're not as interested in returning my things as they are in the converse. Honestly, if they'd said "Oh, by the way, could you post the keys? And we have your funny little American hair dryer and where should we post it?" I wouldn't have felt so much churlish, petty, vindictive delight in causing them a spot of bother over the replacing of the bedroom key, but as it is, it was just one more piece of bad behavior on their part to act so utterly and totally self-serving and entitled, and one more piece of bad behavior on my part to return the favor with interest. No saint, me - as I sat in the doctor's office grumping to myself about Vine Farm's vexing legacy - my illness and wasted morning - I was immoderately cheered by how deranged I was certain the Wackos were about the missing keys. I expect they'll change all the locks, fearing the worst. Perhaps they'll even have to have the village shaman in to aspergate the place of my evil eye.
Coming soon: tales of nuns and farmers and English aristocracy!