About an hour ago, I heard the three most beautiful words in the English language (except they were in Chinese and word count gets difficult there - four characters; arguably two or three words).
These weren't the expected 'I love you' or even 'Have another champagne!' or any of several newspaper headlines I pray for each day (Is 'T**** self-combusts' two words or three?)
No, the relevant part of my simple translation of what I was told was "GO HOME TOMORROW", so now I'm busy packing up my grapes and settling up with the ghouls whose eyes lit up every time they found a new symptom. (Actually, my friend/secretary Cindy is doing that. I'm lying on the bed writing this.)
In fact, they have been very nice, caring, and efficient. I have only two complaints. The food and another not worth going into, but which involved one person who was so stupid they wouldn't notice if they self-combusted with two weeks warning. Stupid people everywhere.
Those who know me at all will be aware that I'm not the stick-at-home type. I've spent my life moving; lived in a dozen countries (for between a year and twenty plus years); and visited over 60 others. I have spent the last 21 years based in China - a long way from that mining village in Scotland.
Yet "go home" is profoundly meaningful when attached to "from hospital." I've never been freed from prison after decades of incarceration, falsely or rightly accused, but I can't think of a better comparison. (I have slept in a prison cell once, but was not there under compulsion. The prison was the safest building in an air raid and I was kindly offered hospitality. And the food was better, but I love middle-eastern food.
Of course, before I can escape I have to eat the Last Lunch and.the grand finale - the Last Supper.
Last Lunch just arrived. It a heroic, but failed attempt to rescue the NADIR above. They made the same dish again but added some fish. Boiled carp (sp?).
