A worrying diagnosis


I went for a run this afternoon, round Windsor, a small town in Nova Scotia. It’s odd running in cool air after the humid soup of Singapore; I did two miles in less than 15 minutes, without even trying hard.

On the last part of my run, I went past Octopus Diagnostics, a non-descript office building with a sign outside of polished black granite, the logo some kind of cephalopod. Since the parking lot outside the building was empty, there was nobody to enquire about their diagnoses. Did they specialise in octopi? Did they use an octopus in place of more sophisticated medical apparatus? Or was the whole place owned and operated by an octopus?

In other words, had H.P. Lovecraft’s nightmares come true? Well, insofar as he dreamed that Cthulhu was working in Eastern Canada, identifying medical conditions in a two-storey brick building?

We may never know; I carried on running and didn’t investigate further.

We’re in an old folks’ home, which is also a branch of the Gyro Club. That sounds as suspicious to me as Octopus Diagnostics: can there really be an organisation for old people that specialises in spinning them at great speed until gyroscopic effects kick in? That doesn’t sound like a medically sensible activity. But perhaps that’s what any physician with 8 legs and the ability to change colour and texture to camouflage itself would recommend.


One response to “A worrying diagnosis”

  1. […] may just be my prejudices. Windsor is not very big. Last year, I ran around it and encountered a cephalopod-themed medical research laboratory, which I took to be evidence of some chthonian cult, ready to rise up, waving tentacles wrapped in […]

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