They are promising to let me out, in time to get a taxi to Selcuk’s service, where I’ll meet Dani.

I had lost hope of going, and Dani was going to speak on my behalf, but now I get to do my own talking.

They will discharge me with quite a lot of drugs for the next 2 weeks, which should sort out my double infection that I have going on concurrently.

Me and my ward buddy opposite will stay in touch I’m sure and maybe collaborate on some future Zorb Ball enterprise.

Watch this space.

The vacated lorry driver’s bed has been filled.

The gentleman appeared, amongst other things, to have some difficulty walking.

He was here a few hours before he asked the nurse to help him visit the toilet. As he is directly opposite me, I  pretty much have to turn my head or close my eyes not to see him.

He is wearing a standard hospital gown. They cover the front of you and are tied at the back, but  also open at the back too.

I was treated to the view of him bending over, with his back to me, and his feet planted firmly apart, with no underwear on.

I could see the reason for his odd gait.

He’s got bigger nuts than I have!

And that’s why he’s here…

So now I’m not only paralysed and bed bound, but also not even the bloke with the biggest bollocks on the ward!

Andy Rod Stewart Murray has now left, with his fiancée.

I fear for her prospects, once he hits the big time.

Next time I see him, it’ll be in the Daily online Mail, wrapped with Gwynneth Paltrow, or some starlet.

If Gwynneth, it’ll never last.  She only eats Oxygen and the gluten from gluten free bread.

Or something like that.

The chances of Gwynnie having a fridge full of  strobberi  jam , to keep him from going after someone more racy,  are almost zero.

As half expected, I am told that in fact I’m in for another day ( at least ).

The microbiology team ( and no, they’re not in charge of testicle measurement – that’s the local surveyor ) has decided that my blood tests show way too much sign of infection, and my  intravenous drugs need to be changed again.

Thanks to Dani and Amber and Pia and Mark P and Irfan for visiting.

As anyone that has come so far has been sent to totally the wrong ward, it’s Bed G4 on the Riverside Ward in Charing Cross. And don’t let the various people on reception tell you otherwise.

The surgeon has just done his round and seen the  two other guys, who have both had their appendixes out.

‘Rodney Stewart’ just had to say, had to … ‘ I’m a singer. Will having my appendix out have affected my vocal chords?’

I had to stifle a laugh, to be honest.

Wa you wont for breakfast?

Some tea, some orange juice, and bran flakes please.

You wont sugar ?

No thank you.

She appears to write it all down.

Few minutes later..

She puts a tray ( with tea, small carton of juice, and   tiny bowl containing about 20 bran flakes, full to the brim with milk ) out of my reach on a table to the side of my bed.

I ask her to pass my the tray, which she kindly does.

I no put the sugar in yet.

I don’t want sugar, thank you.

You wont sugar – How many?

No sugar at all, thank you.

Maybe I’m the first person in this hospital not to request sugar?

I know now find myself strangely pleased when I hear strobberi jam  …. from behind the curtain – which of course I did 3 times.

Ok so now I’m not going home today after all.

As the other three on this ward have been dangled the carrot of leaving, and then it been taken away, I was realistic about it happening to me too.

Sorry to Jo Fleet for not making her thing tonight – I don’t think I’d have trousers to fit in any case, having gotten rid of my Hammer Pants a long time ago.

Saturday nights ain’t what they used to be, that’s for sure.

They’ve cleaned the floor!

The tennis playing recording artist is now with his  fiancé.

He is looking at his phone, she is looking out the window.

If you’re this bored with eachother before you’re married, what are the prospects for your future?

The lorry driver is bemoaning another night in hospital to come ( more opportunities for the doctors to kill him, I imagine )

The young Latino is back from surgery and looks tired.

I was advised that I’d go home today and am taking that with a pinch of salt.

Either way I’ll watch the English and Scottish minnows play eachother in the Six Nations this evening, with the main event on tomorrow.

..for coming to see me in hospital. 

I don’t know why the first line now appears in italics?

But thanks to Dani and my girls, to Dan, to John and Marta, to Pia, to Alison Evans, to Cliff and Holl’s and to my mother too.

My mother told me today that she’s been practicing doing things since the age of 7 with her left hand, just in case something ever happens to her right arm… having once seen a war film where someone got his right arm shot off.

I think that she needs a hobby.