I had my stitches out today. It only took a few painless minutes. Unfortunately my wrist now closely resembles a relief map of the Himalayas - after being bombed.
Tomorrow is the day I've been waiting for. I was rather (foolishly perhaps) hoping for a letter saying "Stay out of the sun from now on, you pillock!", or something like that. However, I've been summoned to the hospital to talk about the lab results. On the plus side, they haven't told me to report to the mortuary, so perhaps there's some hope.
All this for a stupid habit I had over thirty years ago. I don't think the sun has seen a square millimetre of my skin without sunscreen for all the intervening time.
On the basis that no one can see you crying under a crash helmet. I'm going to turn up on my hog. Not inside; they might get irritated, but you know what I mean.
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