I did a clinic this morning over at the Preston Road Medical Centre. Frankly, with the blockading binmen and their rubbish protest on one side, and the organisers of this weekend's Pride festival setting up marquees on the other, I did well to get there at all. But I made it in time to meet an 80-year-old Indian lady who told me the story of her life as the daughter of illiterate slaves serving Portuguese masters, and her arrival in this country during the Second World War without a penny or a parent to her name. To be honest, when I'm told to take the eye history of a patient, I'm probably not supposed to go back that far, but it was bloomin' interesting. And let's face it, eye history ought to include everything you've ever seen.

Screening done, I returned to base this afternoon to do a bit of admin, and whilst adding some new patients to our list, I discovered the fantastic news that there's a GP in Uckfield called Dr Heal. If she can't make you better, no one can. But even more wonderful than that, is that Dr Heal works at the Bird in Eye Surgery. I don't know who's dishing out names in Uckfield, but they're certainly using their imagination. Admittedly, if you got a bird in your eye, you would need surgery, but I still think it's a ridiculous name.

Anyhoo, as anyone with a calendar and a copy of my birth certificate will tell you, tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be 36, so obviously I'm still very much mid-thirties, whereas in a month's time Lisa will be closer to fifty than thirty. It's a miracle we have so much in common. I've decided to spend my birthday taking in the delights of Haywards Heath with 28 of my closest friends. Or to put it another way, I'm doing an all-day clinic at the health centre. Interestingly, three of my appointments phoned up today and cancelled, so the guest list's currently down to 25. They must have heard that no one's getting in without a present.