Today I have been mostly writing a “How to be Paul” guide, for m’colleagues to use when I’m on holiday.

Regular readers with good memories will remember that I did that a while ago, before I went off sick to have my wrist done. Sadly it wasn’t clear enough, and they had to resort to phoning me at home for advice. My fault – I will insist on using all those nasty three-syllable words.

I phoned the hospital this afternoon:
“Hello, this is Sheila Gottlegog’s son: Can you tell me if she’s gone down for her operation yet?”
“No, she hasn’t gone yet”
“Can you tell me when she will be going?”
“No, ring back in an hour”
Surely by the middle of the afternoon they must have the day’s schedule sorted out?

Ah well. Don’t expect blogginess tomorrow chums – I’ve got a hard day of combing armadillos and I probably won’t even turn the computer on. I’ll tell you all about it on Wednesday.

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