Stop Press.

The hospital screwed up yesterday. I was always sure that the arrangement couldn’t work and queried the fact with one of the secretaries, but to no avail. Sure enough, it didn’t, which is why I was kept in again and spent another night grumpily closeted in the Royal Derby while they applied a slightly different approach to removing a catheter and assessing success or failure. (The level of success has to be measured, you see. It isn't simply a case of 'now you see it, now you don't.' It's all about frequency, flow rates, expelled volume and residual volume. You're only working if your arithmetic adds up. That's the modern way.)

But it worked. It turned out to be less of an ordeal than I expected and I even met somebody a little special. So far, so good. I'm now back at the ranch minus one inconvenient appendage and hoping for a month of peace before the debrief. (Fervently hoping.) More later.