I've just heard from my Dad, something is wrong with his legs. Very wrong, he is in constant pain. They were given an X-ray by the NHS but in a typical NHS bungle the tape that the specialist dictated his/her findings onto was broken so the message was impossible to hear.
He said it's not that bad as he is on some lovely morphine but I think I should visit him anyway. Terminal illnesses are like that, it's not like a book where you can see how many pages are remaining and have a guess at how much longer it will last.
He mentioned the phrase amputation as a joke, I think. While I admire the stiff upper lip of that generation I do think that amputation humour should be off limits when talking to children.
Anyway, I've managed to arrange for the devil-dog to be looked after by some other people while I go to Wales for a few days to see him, which goes to prove that every cloud does have a silver lining.
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