We are the hardcore four, all with long term icky conditions. No ingrown fourth hair down on the left shin here. Amazingly disparate women. Compassionate, caring, funny. They have been trying to teach me to speak "Essex" this week. I have been trying to learn.
Ok, peeps, the idea is that I am going into Basildon Hospital.just thought I would say as my Dad seems to think he is coming to visit me in Brentford, Tiff has some weird plan involving driving to the end of the Central line and getting on the Tube or maybe "Coming via Liverpool Street Station."
"That would be the easiest way to come and seez ya, doncha think?" She said. (She is learning Essex too).
"No, " I replied. " getting on the A12, following signs for Basildon Hospital, parking in the hospital car park and coming to see me that way would get my vote."
Other people are coming to variously Basildon, Brentwood, Braintree - no, no,no, the big shopping centre with IKEA is Thurrock, doesn't have a hospital and doesn't begin with "b" but, yes, you were close. Billericay has been mentioned. The reference to watching all those lovely aeroplanes threw me for a while but I realise you meant Biggin Hill, Brentwood (more shopping - a big John Lewis. I am sure I am going to feel an overwhelming urge for matching bath mats"...
As the operation draws nearer and I become more physically repugnant, I know it doesn't matter where I end up or who gets to see me. I only know that I know what it is like to be driven mad by pain.
It's a Bugger.