Categories: Doings

The lost week.

Shorthand for the period of seven days which doesn’t make sense, during which:

A man got irritated and confused
A wife got frustrated and took over (Thanks Sandie, xxx)
A doctor hadn’t a clue what the man was on about
The man guessed the day and date and got it wrong.
A man fell in love (re-kindled his affair) with weetabix
A man was ordered to A n E with the distinct possibility of an extended stay.

The longhand version is far too boring to recount, sufficient to say it was an overnight experience, with a bed being found at 02.00 after a nine hour wait. The diagnosis was Pneumonia (why and how? – Ed), the process was fever fuelled and sleep was colourful, inventive, and of lasting memory. The staff were extremely kind, solicitous, thoughtful and pragmatic. Full marks to Hereford hospital and Wye Valley NHS Trust.

Conference about me taking place prior to an intensive grilling about which date and time it was currently. (Note to self, keep rehearsing it and get it by rote).

Fellow travellers. Of such Derby and Joan moments is life made up.

Proof that I did pass this way.