Some time ago I received a letter from my GP practice, inviting me to make an appointment for a health check. I didn’t feel in any particular need for this but with the NHS stretched as it is, it seemed churlish to refuse their offer. Perhaps too, it saves the service money to catch problems early and to real with them before they become serious.

So I did what I usually do and put the letter on the corner of my desk reserved for items requiring “further attention”. I imagine it would be there still but for the phone call.

The caller was a receptionist at the practice ringing to enquire whether I would like to make the appointment for the health check. Well, er, yes, OK.

I turned up at the due time and was interviewed by a cheerful practice nurse. She weighed me, took my blood pressure (a little high but, then I was feeling a little stressed) and went through a list of questions about my lifestyle. That all seemed very satisfactory.

Are we done, then? Apparently not quite:

“You haven’t had a blood test, lately. You ought to have that done.”

I was given a form to hand to the phlebotomist and told that once the results were ready someone would call me or text me. Quelle joie.

I let a couple of days go by and then, this morning, did my duty.

The nearest place for blood tests to where we live is at the Pine Street Medical Centre. They open at 8:30 and the protocol is that you take a numbered ticket from the machine and wait until the illuminated box on the wall buzzes and displays your number. Then you enter the phlebotomist’s lair and sit in the big chair worn smooth by countless previous customers.

I don’t know what goes into the training of a phlebotomist but I can say that they vary in their skill. One that we know only too well is heavy handed, causes pain when she stabs you and leaves bruises as a signature of her work. I’m glad to say that today’s was so skilful that I barely felt the needle go in and was surprised at how quickly the job was completed. Lucky me.

On the way home, I walked along Exmouth Market. There were very few stalls open, whether because it was still early or because it was a weekday and the cold added a disincentive, I don’t know.

Now I can relax and await my phone call or text to tell me the results of the blood test.

When I launched this blog, I was taking photos and writing text with my trusty iPhone 6. Apple has brought out several newer models since the 6 was dish of the day but I was happy to go on using mine indefinitely. Then a couple of things happened that caused me to reflect. The first was when iOS 13 was issued and I realized that the iPhone 6 could not be updated but was stuck forever on iOS 12. While newer models embraced iOS 13 and further upgrades, the iPhone 6 was left in a backwater doomed to become gradually obsolete and vulnerable to untreated bugs and vulnerabilities.

The second thing, the clincher, though, was a couple of incidents of catastrophe loss of power. On both occasions, the iPhone was connected by cable to a power source and should have been showing maximum charge but, instead, displayed a message that it had been switched off because of low battery power. This meant that the poor thing could no longer be relied on as it might fail at a crucial moment. It was time for it to retire.

This, however, meant that I needed to replace it. With what, though? Regarding the availability of handset models, these days one is not short of choice. The market is awash with makes and models of smart phones. My decision was simplified by the fact that I had no thoughts of abandoning the iPhone family. I have been happy with the two iPhones that I have had up to now and so was determined to buy another iPhone model, but which one?

Of course, I could keep my present phone and have a new battery fitted. That would be cheaper than buying a new phone and allow me to going on using the 6 indefinitely. I rejected this solution, though, because of the end-of-upgrades problem mentioned above.

The latest iPhone, the 11, is a wonderful piece of work. The Pro version has Apple’s most advanced camera yet. Unfortunately, it carries a price tag to match its quality, a little too rich for my purse, I felt. An older model at a more affordable price seemed indicated.

A while back, Tigger was having difficulties with the limited memory space on her iPhone 6 and had solved the problem by upgrading to an iPhone 8. I decided to follow suit because an128 GB iPhone 8 hits your credit card at £529, less than half the price of the iPhone 11. Also, sharing the same model means that we can give one another tips on usage and help one another solve problems.

(The 256 GB iPhone 8 is no longer available unless you buy a refurbished one.)

The buying process was fun. I decided to go to Apple’s Covent Garden branch to buy the phone but thought it safer to phone first and ensure that they had some in stock. I spoke to a charming young man who assured me that they had plenty available and, further, that they would reserve one for me if I bought it there and then over the phone. I did so and received an order code which I should give to Apple staff on arrival.

The system worked perfectly. A young woman wearing an Apple tee shirt took my code, asked to see some ID and then went to fetch my new phone. In a few minutes the deal was done. Top marks for efficiency.

To tell the truth, I was not looking forward to the process of setting up the new phone. For one thing, I had applied two-factor authentication to my account and this can no longer be disabled. I wondered how this would work with setting up the new phone. Another concern was that in the past, when setting up a new phone from a backup, the standard Apple apps were installed but not third party apps. I made a list of all these, sure that I would have to download and reinstall them myself. I imagined the whole process taking me days.

It turned out that Apple was ahead of me in the game. The new phone asked whether I was transferring data from another iPhone and when I answered yes, it bade me bring the other near to it. It then produced a swirly image on its screen and told me to centre this in the field of the old phone’s camera. I did so and that was that. The new phone siphoned all the data and apps from the old phone onto itself, arranging them exactly as I had arranged them on the old phone. The only apps I couldn’t see were Find Phone and Find Friends. Happily Tigger was able to point out that these had now been replaced by a single app called Find My. With that in place, everything was in working order. The two phones looked like twins except that the iPhone 8 is a couple of millimetres taller than the iPhone 6, a hardly noticeable difference.

An iPhone is quite a small object and smooth to the point of being slippery. My iPhone 6 is dressed in a tight-fitting case with an anchor-point for a lanyard. When I go out, I put the phone in my handbag but slip the lanyard round my neck for extra security. That case does not fit the iPhone 8 so I have ordered a new one from Amazon. It should arrive in a couple of days. In the meantime, I will not be brandishing my new phone about but handling it with extreme care.

First impressions are that iOS 13 contains some significant differences from iOS 12. I am not saying whether one is better than the other, just that there is a learning curve in adapting to the new system. A lot of commands are not where I expect to find them and I need to hunt around for them. That is just a temporary problem, though, and the new OS will soon seem as familiar as the old.

When we started our journey home from Tigger’s place of work this evening, we found there was a long gap before the next bus. (She has a handy app on her phone that shows the times of the next buses to arrive at the stop you choose from its map.)

We therefore decided to walk up to Aldgate to catch the more frequent number 205 which we would change to in any case.

On the way, we made a pause at the Curzon cinema, not to watch a film but to have coffee in the bar-lounge.

I took this photo with the camera of my new iPhone. Oh yes, I haven’t told you about that, have I? But I will, shortly.

In the meantime, here’s another photo from the Curzon. Not very interesting, I know, but I think the quality is better than the photos taken will the iPhone 6.

After breakfast – guess where? Yes, at Jusaka – we took the bus to Moorgate.

At Moorgate Station, a temporary notice directed us down the above dark staircase…

…and then down this spiral stairway…

… to the railway platforms (Moorgate is also a tube station) where this train was just arriving.

The train brought us here, to a station called Enfield Chase. (The word “Chase” – from French chasse meaning “hunt” – indicates that the land around here was once a royal hunting preserve.)

This is Enfield Chase Station, built in the early years of the 20th century to replace the Victorian original.

The Old Wheatsheaf pub has some fine tiles on the front which fit with its late Victorian origins. (Photo by Tigger)

This sun-dazzled photo shows the local magistrates’ court. The picture doesn’t show much detail which is a pity because there is some decorative brickwork that is quite pleasing. (So far, I have no information on the building’s date or history.)

This is the Enfield drill hall and sports club. It was built in 1901 as a training centre for the Volunteer Reserve Unit. These days it serves as a sports club.

We tarried a while in Enfield Town Park. Through it runs the New River, which I have mentioned before, and has its terminus in Islington near where we live.

In the park there are gulls, mainly Black Headed, and a large community of Canada Geese. (Despite their name, they now stay in the UK all the year round, having found our lakes and parks with ponds or streams to their taste.) This one came to visit us, probably hoping we had food to share.

This is a view along the New River with the spire of (I think) Trinity Church in the background.

This is Trinity Church. In Gothic style, it was purpose-built in 1889 as a Methodist church and was designed by F. Boreham.

This is the Market Square and today it was fulfilling the purpose of its name. The market looked interesting but we did mot explore it on this occasion.

This rather fine building (“1897 by W. Gilbert Scott. Exuberant Flemish Renaissance style”) houses a branch of Barclay’s Bank. It was here, in June 1967, that the world’s first ATM was unveiled. On the wall is a plaque commemorating the event.

We now boarded a bus only to realize after a while that we were going in the wrong direction. (Tigger’s Inner Pigeon must have been taking a break 🙂 ) We left the bus, crossed the road and caught the same number bus travelling in the opposite direction. Problem solved 🙂

After a fee changes of buses, we reached Edmonton Shopping Centre. Here we found the Caffè d’Oro where we had lunch. I opted for the £7 vegetarian breakfast (they serve breakfast all day) and it was so copious that I had to leave some of it.

After lunch we explored the shopping centre. There is scaffolding everywhere and major works are obviously in progress.

As a result, the atmosphere is part shopping centre and part covered market, with a mixture of built premises and market stalls.

We explored a few shops and stalls and Tigger bought some more wool for her crochet projects.

By the time we emerged once more into daylight, we felt we had explored enough for one day and so made our way to the bus station.

As our bus pulled out of the station, Tigger took the above photo of a tower block, sunlit but with a dramatic stormy sky backdrop.

We first took a 149, destination London Bridge, but later managed to change to a good old 476, which passes through Angel on its way to King’s Cross.

Home in time for tea!

Finally, here is an eye-confusing view down the central well of the spiral staircase at Moorgate Station.

Caffè Nero
Photo by Tigger

This is Caffè Nero at Islington Green where we stopped for a coffee break on our way home.

Where had we been? To the exotic realms of Wood Green. We had errands to run but spent most of the time on buses in heavy traffic. A typical British Sunday, you might say.

Evening closes in
Photo by Tigger