A morning at the hospital

Spent most of the morning at Harrogate Hospital, taking my friend J for a pre-op appointment. Having been to several other hospitals as a visitor or out-patient, I was preparing to be critical - smells of boiled cabbage and urine, grubby floors, nurses lounging around chatting whilst patients expire behind curtains, and being spoken to like an amoeba. But nothing could be further from my un-Pollyanna-ish expectations. All was sparklingly clean, the nurses were as efficient as Gauleiters but as charming as Captain Corellis, and they spoke to us as though we were a couple of nuclear physicists. AND we got cups of coffee from a jolly student nurse who looked like a supermodel but showed no sign of knowing it.
I take it all back. We could have spent a thousand pounds for a consultation and not have experienced better.
Celebrated by having lunch in Chez La Vie, a French restaurant in Harrogate centre very handily situated opposite Waitrose. More charming and friendly people (why can't they be cloned?), though this time French. The set lunch was perfectly nice food (though no parsnips - the French seem to think they are cattle food, along with swedes) for a pittance. Lots of bread at no charge (authentically). My French onion soup was rich, brown and topped (authentically again) with bubbling Gruyere toasts. The confit duck leg was beautifully crisp, and the only criticism I could offer was that the frozen peas would be better replaced by a seasonal vegetable.
It can't last, and won't. Tomorrow I am off to London by train and will no doubt be sitting next to someone with the dreaded vomiting virus.