This won't mean anything to those that don't know or care about guitars, but I gave her my 70's Fender Stratocaster. The American model and not the Japanese. That's important to those who know such things; although not to me, really, since all I could ever get out of it were the aggrieved shrieks of a strangled cat.
I haven't had to invent an excuse not to write for the past two weeks because my right arm doesn't work.
I still believe that the National Health Service of Britain is a great thing but waiting three weeks for an orthopedic appointment does seem a little long - especially as I haven't had two hours uninterrupted sleep in all that time. My near total immunity to painkillers of any kind doesn't really help the situation either. The hospital gave me Tramadol, which everyone says would turn me into a zombie. I would have done better to beat myself senseless with the box for all the good they did. What has saved me from almost certain insanity is the hot water bottle which has lived for all that time on my shoulder. Roll on next week. If they don't find out what's wrong, or even better, fix it, I may have to take matters into my own hand.
Another thing. Using a mouse with my left hand is really difficult - and I'm left handed.
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