Discharged

I have His Lordship back in residence after an overnight stay in hospital following a small surgical procedure; I'm relieved to say that no white stockings are in evidence, but there is a distinct hospital aroma on his clothes.

The Door to the inner sanctum is once more firmly shut as he commits his trial by knife to a photo diary he keeps. He was sufficiently unfazed by it all to have the surgeon take his photo as he lay prostrated in his 'goonie' and mask. There is a rather alarmingly beautiful anaesthetist at his shoulder but I'm sure any attraction would be completely one sided, taking the picture as evidence.

And yes again he had to make his way to St John's hospital in Livingston just like our elderly neighbour last week. The taxis are doing a brilliant trade, although had I had to visit, I would have been perverse enough to make my way up to the new Royal Infirmary and catch one of the buses that ply their trade between there and St John's every hour, all for free. There is an unfortunate penny pinching streak in my genetic make up.