I'm in the waiting room at the Kaiser Permanente Emergency Room. Don't worry, it's nothing serious. In fact, it's not even me, it's my friend Cecilia, who dropped a 25lb weight-lifting plate on her foot while she was training me. Her foot is certainly horrible to look at, probably broken.

Anyway, while waiting, there's nothing to do here except either watch the Simpsons without sound, or write. So here I am.

It was only the other day that I remember looking around the gym and watching enviously as other guys worked out with so much vigor and energy. I remember asking myself when did I last feel that good. Yet here at the ER, I realize how lucky I am. It certainly resets your perspective.

I've spent precious little of my life in hospitals. I've never had anything more serious than measles, never had a broken bone (apart from a cracked nose after a soccer game), and have never spent the night in a hospital bed. So I should be seriously counting my blessings.

I've been impressed with the people here. They mostly seem to be caring and kindly, not the flustered, move-it-along attitude I remember from British ER rooms. All kinds of horror stories have come out recently about the British National Health Service. An old woman with Alzheimers was discovered in a London ER waiting room, after spending the whole weekend sitting there in the same chair, covered in blood, waiting, and waiting.

Mind, here I am, waiting and waiting - now how I'd intended to spend my Friday evening. Poor Cecilia though. I could tell she wanted to cry, but I think she didn't want to in front of me. I do have something of a fear of seeing other people being emotional. And I suppose Cecilia's picked up on that. My Britishness is showing, I guess.

"Huge crane passing under the Bay Bridge the other day. They closed down the bridge just in case."