||[Apr. 21st, 2012|06:40 pm]
We're still visiting my f-i-l in hospital every afternoon. They've sorted out his medical problems, but he's still very weak and sleepy and depressed. "When can I come home?" he asks, but the answer- which is always along the lines of "When you start eating properly and working with the physios"- isn't what he wants to hear- so he doesn't. |
They had got him out of bed (under protest) and sitting out today. He drowsed through our visit, so we talked among ourselves (briskly and cheerfully in an attempt to raise the level of the vibrations in his room) about Ailz's former in-laws and their haunted side-board. The musical windmill that sat on it would play you its tune without being wound. Put your hat on it and the hat would be thrown across the room, lose a trinket and you knew where to look first, run out of cigarettes and you'd always find a single one hidden at the back of one of the drawers.