No, I haven’t sung it to the Sage. I’m being very kind and sweet. But it’s running through my head.
He was ages in the dentist. I offered to drive him in, in case he didn’t feel too good when he came out, and yesterday he poo-pooed the idea, but changed his mind this morning. He told me 45 minutes, I thought that was pushing it but was back within the hour, with a boot full of Tesco booze (I know, I know, not such a woman of principle as I like to think) and still had to wait more than half an hour for him. I stayed in the car, because it’s very much a bedsit area of Norwich and I was a bit worried that the car should not be broken in to, but as time went by, I got more and more anxious that he was having a rotten time.
He managed a plateful of scrambled eggs for lunch, very bravely. I’ve assured him that he needs plenty of protein to keep up his strength.