Looking into holes. Part twelve

 The old variety theatre was in its pomp; a cavalcade of gold and blue and red and laughter burst through the auditorium at the antics on stage. Hectic music themed to suit the comic dramatic centrepiece wheeled in time to the balletic gestures of a tall balletic man with a wide grin and a penchant for winking at the audience. He was surrounded by plates spinning on what looked like bamboo shoots and he was assisted by a small be-capped man who moved like a monkey on a tricycle. The game was simple; stop the plates falling off and as each  of the characters cajoled each other to exert themselves the music became more frenetic and the comedic gestures more extreme. It was a simple game but the audience believed themselves to be watching comedy night gold. They weren’t the only ones watching Sunday Night at the London Palladium or marvelling at the comic mastery of Bruce Forsyth and Norman Wisdom. Thousands around the country tuned in through their 12 inch tv screens housed in what looked like a large radiogram and emitting a not so sharp black and white image of the unfolding hilarity.

Today has been a hard day. Nothing much different on the agenda, antibiotics, anti-fungal, painkillers, bloods given freely and taken at whim. I have, however become frustrated by the failure, once again, of the physio to appear. On the one hand the team want me to expend little energy and on the other I’m pretty convinced angst and frustration are counter productive and I need to get to and from the toilet under my own steam, no pun intended. I am bed bound and had to use bedpans twice today. My bum is so sore the nurse is now having to smother me in barrier cream. From my perspective if I can walk then I take a load off the nursing staff but the management team seem happier that I should expend as little effort as possible to maximise chances of recovery. I don’t suppose there are any right decisions; you just have to go with the flow but just now I coughed and shat the bed and coughed again. It’s a new low and I’m not afraid to admit a I sobbed; sometimes it just breaks you.

Sundance and Butch clung to the edge of the precipice. Tracked relentlessly for days there seemed no way out; trackers above them and the gulch 200metres below. 

“I have an idea” said Butch.”

“What?” Said Sundance 

“ Lets jump”

“No!”

“ it’s our only chance”

“No!”

“Why not?” 

Beads of sweat form  on Sundance’s face as he grimaces at the the gulch below “I can’t swim”

Butch’s laughter fills the canyon “swim? The fall will probably kill us.”

They leap into the air screaming “Geronimo” and into the gulch below.