Old Ghosts.

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet…

~ On Raglan Road by Patrick Kavanagh

OK, so let’s have a brief but welcome break from the seemingly never ending saga of my health woes. Let’s instead briefly reprise a theme which has been ever constant on this blog since its inception: I saw the Lady B today for the first time since the nice folks at the Royal Derby Hospital cast me into a nest of vipers.

She wasn’t walking down a quiet street, though. She was driving up my lane while I was trudging slowly down it on my latest foray to re-acquaint myself with the great outdoors (or at least a little bit of it.) She smiled and waved but declined to stop and say:

Oh my dear Jeff, how are you my poor old friend? I’ve been so worried about you, rarely going a night without disturbing dreams of you stretched prostrate before a hideous demon of terrible aspect, claws outstretched and searing flames coursing from its malevolent eyes. It must be terrible for you, and I should like to offer whatever I may be able to give to ease you of your burden. Just name it and I will be your servant.

No, just a smile and a wave. But of course, the Lady B knows nothing of my circumstances over the past three weeks. She is understandably ignorant of the post-operative rigours consequent upon six hours of surgery (and four more in the recovery room.)  She is entirely unfamiliar with the hellish complication which descended on me just when I thought I was about to start the slow climb to full recovery. How could she know? And besides, there’s no way that the dear Lady B would stoop to utter the kind of drivel which appears in italics above anyway. It’s not her style.

But the smile and wave were nice and I was duly delighted.