Ow! Am back home after a brief stay in Watford hospital. One minute I'm going to bed and everythings normal, then I'm in hospital being prodded and poked by a steady stream of strangers, the next I'm at home shambling round like a geretratric.
Apparently my appendix (an organ I used less often than a Daily Mail reader uses their brain) was unhappy with it's living quarters and demanded to be rehomed. The whole process has a slightly surreal feel about it (and thats before the introduction of various high end narcotics). On the one hand here I am home less than a week since the first symptoms presented themselves and on the other it already seems an age ago and I'm bored senseless and am desperately craving a run or a ride.
The one thing I do know is I love every single one of the members of staff in the Acute Admissions Unit in Watford hospital. The ward had only been open a few days and was being staffed by nurses from Watford and Hemel Hempstead none of who knew where anything was or who did what. But day or night, there they were, always helpful and always smiling. I've always respected them but I now feel even less able to moan about my job.