Friday, 27 November 2009
I cannot sing the praises of NHS doctors, surgeons or nurses enough, even with a big wad of cotton wool stuck up one nostril. They were, infact, a complete delight, and even admitted that because of the drugs they would inevitably have to give me to get me through the ordeal with the knife of no small proportions, that I would feel 'rather euphoric' on waking from those deepest of anesthetic sleeps. It was as if they were a special breed of nice, some breed apart from the world I am used to. Now I stare at the squirrels playing on the balcony with delight, and am enchanted by documentaries on the beavers of Yellowstone Park.