House dust mites, nasal polyps & a singer from heaven

My N.H.S Story happened today. I was early. I caught the No 38 Bus up to the Heath Hospital for an appointment with the Ear Nose and Throat Department. I have been up to the Heath a few times and it is like a mini city, within a city. It is so busy even at that time of the morning. I have had the symptoms of perennial allergic rhinitis for as long as I care to remember but today I get confirmation that I am allergic to House Dust Mites and that I have small nasal polyps growing that I can choose to have removed if I should so wish. All this on the National Health Service. Why do we take the National Health Service for granted? What is it within the Human Form that only thinks about them when they are unwell and in need of help. You get fixed up, throw away the crutches and you are on your own sweet way. What was great as well, was that the nurse doing the allergy test spoke Welsh. She had a little badge with 'Cymraeg' on it so after a few pleasantries in Olde Englishe I tried my luck and the effort was rewarded with enthusiasm. It is such a pleasure when you meet an 'ordinary' person who speaks Welsh, not a media type or academic but a down to earth nurse who was very proud of her country and language.
I walked back because the weather was gorgeous and on nearing the city, the hustle and bustle of consumer capitalism got louder and louder. I know Men are not meant to be over struck on shopping anyway but the older I get, the less time I am able to spend in any shop before feeling distinctly uncomfortable.  After checking out the price of anti-allergy bedding in Argos I walked down the steps from St David's 1 and was greeted by the most amazing sight and sound. It was profound. There was a busker playing a piano accordian and next to him was a tall black gentleman singing. Well his voice was incredible. Paul Robeson-esque. The singer was just a passer by and was accompanying the busker. I had to stop. It was so haunting that a number of mostly elderly people stopped also. I observed him through the railings and walking through St John's he carried on but suddenly became self conscious at the attention. It was a wondrous voice. The gentleman then disappeared  into Central Market appearing rather sheepish. He had been able to release something out there in the sunshine with humor, happiness and a smile. It really was so profound but so short lived. 
I had to go and process what I had just heard and seen in Waterstones.
I felt incredibly sad. Saddened by the human voice that has been stifled but that can still be as beautiful as an angel when the spirit is released. 
These were two 'lost souls' united in song and tune.


This isn't really an observation that you can bring up in conversation because the reply you're likely to get is "He's being Bipolar again".