Telscombe

SENIOR TEA CLUB: The Deans Senior Tea Club meet every Tuesday from 10.30am to 12.30pm in the Civic Centre. Come along for tea, coffee, cakes and a chat. It’s free, but donations are always welcome.

YOGA: With Natalie Heath every Tuesday from 6pm to 7pm in the Civic Centre. This class is back after the summer break on Tuesday September 4. Contact Natalie Heath email: [email protected] phone: 07738538094.

LIVING LIGHT PILATES: Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning in the Civic Centre. £6.50 per class or class pass for £44 (eight classes plus one free session). Contact Nicola Murray-Smith email: [email protected] phone: 07776 457752.

FITNESS PILATES: Every Monday morning and Thursday evening in the Civic Centre. Get fit, tone up, prevent back pain, improve flexibility and posture. Equipment provided, just bring some water. Only £6 per class or £40 for eight weeks. Contact Jennie Palmer email: [email protected] phone: 07825 702775.

YOGA: Every Monday from 7.15pm to 8.15pm in the Civic Centre. Contact Jane email: [email protected] phone: 07703 167895.

DANCE CLASS: Little Stars Pre-School Dance Class for pre-school children aged 2 to 4 years, every Tuesday 9am to 9.30am at the Civic Centre. £3.50 per session. Contact Anneli Smith 07930 490058.

COFFEE MORNING: Bereavement Support Group Coffee Morning on the second Wednesday of each month from 10am to noon in the Civic Centre. Bereavement can be a lonely journey so come and meet other people who are in the same situation as you in a friendly and informal setting. Contact Janet Quintavalle email: [email protected] phone: 01273 585818.

SALTDEAN RESIDENTS ASSOCIATION: Chair Jon Ray; secretary Cathy Gallagher; treasurer Fergal Gallagher. Email: [email protected]. Phone: 07810 560337.

FOOTNOTES: Cautiously I steered Maud’s nose into the line of traffic that was almost stationery on the South Coast Road, once more cursing having accepted a doctor’s appointment at 8.30am. It was only a check up and I had totally forgotten how packed the road could be at that hour. We crawled along at less than walking pace, until eventually I reached my turn off and a few minutes later parked up at the surgery. Crowded and with a long queue for the receptionist, I made a bee line for the magic gizmo that lets you sign in, only to be met with a notice saying ‘out of order’, plastered across it. Resignedly, I joined the queue and then sat down to join the patiently waiting other souls. Looking at the chrome and glass fittings, the TV on vision only in the corner, the spotless sanitary floor with the faint smell of disinfectant, I thought back to the first time I remembered going to the doctors with my parents in South London. The surgery was based where the doctor lived, in a large Victorian house. The waiting room was the previous parlour at the rear of the building, the actual surgery being the former front room. The waiting room had a collection of old wooden chairs of different styles and vintage set around the perimeter, whilst an elderly mahogany table covered in copies of tattered magazines occupied the centre of the room. You had to ask who was the last person in, so you knew when you were next. A well worn carpet covered the floor and pictures of various landscapes hung from the walls. The door would open and a voice would call ‘next’ and you found yourself in a large room reminiscent of a Victorian gentlemen’s study, sitting opposite a massive desk, covered in the paraphernalia of the medical man. The doctor would lounge back in a huge leather wing chair after offering my parents cigarettes from his box of one hundred Senior Service plain, his favourites I recall. Cigarettes lit they would then get down to discussing whatever they had come for. There was never any suggestion of time limits, and if any examinations had to be done, I was sent outside the door and recalled when it was over. Then a fountain pen would be produced and a prescription written out with great flourishes, goodbyes would be said and away we went, my parents trying always unsuccessfully, to translate the doctor’s Latin on the prescription. This, of course was a long time ago and the National Health Service had only just been introduced. My reverie was interrupted by a metallic voice over the loudspeaker calling my name and telling me which room I had to go to. Bringing myself back to the present I left the chrome, steel and glass waiting room with its bustle, TV, and piped music and made my way to my appointment. I was pretty sure I would not be offered a fag either. Have a good week and go safely wherever your journeys take you.