Chemical World

Standing in the chemists waiting for my prescription, it dawns on me how utterly shite I feel. It’s lunchtime - I left work early, feeling dreadful and guilty for breathing my germs over everyone – and the chemist is busy, a queue of people, mainly old, waiting for their medicines. Everyone looks miserable, and yes, it is a cold, grey, wet November day, but I am struck by their collective melancholy just the same. As I near the counter, I see packets of Warfarin and Diazepam, a cluster of bottles and pills over which an elderly lady argues bad-temperedly with the red-faced pharmacist, and my own antibiotics. It dawns on me that I am a lot less ill, and a lot less miserable than most of the assembled crowd, and that I will recover a lot more quickly. A wave of gratitude sweeps over me. Inwardly, I smile - the first of the day.