Stabbed (113/365)

I was quite anxious about going for my first COVID jab today; less about the jab as about going inside a building other than my house for the first time this year, and driving somewhere new, and whether I needed to get there extra early to allow for walking from the car to the vaccine centre, and what I should do about lunch if I had a meeting until 12, my appointment was at 12:45 and then I was going to go for a swim. In fact, it was all very efficient, with plenty of signage and volunteers directing people. There was a steady stream of people coming in but it didn't feel particularly busy, and I was in and out in not much more than five minutes, with instructions to wait in my car for fifteen minutes before driving.

So, now I've had my first dose of the Oxford/Astra Zeneca vaccine. I was quite glad it was that one; given where I work it would have felt a bit disloyal to have one of the others (although obviously I would have taken whatever was on offer). No side effects so far (unless a greater-than-usual tendency to fail to hit the space bar when typing is a vaccine side-effect, which seems unlikely), but I guess I need to wait and see how I feel tomorrow.

I'd timed my appointment to fit in with my usual Friday-lunchtime swim, which turned out to be a particularly good thing as it was one friend's last swim for a while as she has to isolate over the weekend before an operation next week. It was gloriously sunny, with the water in double figures by all of our thermometers. I picked up a bit of plastic floating in the river, intending just to be tidy, and discovered it was a small sparkly tube of bubble mixture, so I sat on the bank afterwards blowing bubbles and decided that nearly 47 is probably too old to be a manic pixie dream girl, so I must be a manic pixie dream crone instead.