Good News the Greater: Dad has pulled himself out the other side of five hours' solid open heart surgery, God bless 'im. Was looking shorn, knocked about, tube-beriddled and altogether unconscious last night, but this morning has made portentous utterances through a fog of morphine. HOORAH!
Good News the Lesser: Ray White, Esq., was wooed good and proper by my tales of financial solvency and domestic aptitude, ergo neon carpet is mine, just as soon as I sign over my life savings by money order or bank cheque.
7 comments:
...or, surely, "Good News The Lessor"?
Either way, that's capital stuff Doctor. Especially glad to hear about your Pater's portentuousness in the face of the Dread Morphine -a veil behind which many a brave serviceman has suttered and stammered, and generally given away Sate secrets and mistresses' phone numbers &c.
Ha! Brilliant! I would have paid cold hard ... frozen peas, perhaps? ... to have authored that lesser/lessor pun.
What can I say, Doctor, other than the path to brilliance lies beset at all turns by the brambles of lunacy.
And so it goes...
Very good to hear that your paternal unit was unwilling to give up his residency in the Land of the Living just yet. My grandfather used his morphine dosage after similar surgery as an excuse to use lyrical pick-up lines on the nurses, on the grounds of discovering 'whether his heart still worked.'
It's a week for Good Newses- the exercise of hearts-and-minds diplomacy has won me a place in an essential East Anglian course, and I didn't even need to resort to shock-and-awe.
Morphine is an excellent choice. Imagine if he had woken up, not to the satin touch of Morpheus but to the claws of Morbius: that would have delivered a shock to the system!
Three cheers for your winning ways with the Defenders of Protocol at East Anglia U, you with the hair. Mazeltov.
Tim, as always, your observations are pertinent, incisive and illuminating. We are exceedingly lucky that none of the nursing staff happened to be a slightly deaf sci-fi fan; had things been different, there's no knowing how many units of liquid Morbius my pa might have consumed. Phew.
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