Lockdown Day 18, Thursday 9th April, 2020

A new nurse wandered in as we chatted into the night, scowling twice at us, tut-tutting the roadkill mess. We ignored her and carried on without acknowledging her downer presence. She took this personally, so when she tut-tuttingly tut-tutted louder, I stood smiling and grandiosely swept up my most dissolute belongings into one big damp pile by the wall without hitting pause on the discussion button. As it wasn’t quite the act of contrition she was looking for she left with a graceless grin. 

  “You win some and you lose some, I guess Terry. She was a bit Bride of Chuckie that one.”

  “Yeah. But most of the nurses are angels. They really are. I couldn’t do this without them. It’s great to see you like, but I’d much rather wake up to a pretty face then your ugly mug any day.”

  “It’s ok for you, I wake up to this even when l’m sober.”

I thought hard for a moment, “Still, if we’re talking about angels, I’ve got just the story for you. You’re going to like this one. Just about my least favourite, but in for a penny, in for a pound. Why I don’t dance.”

  My tiny dancer.