Today we had visits from a couple of technicians to put right the various problems with the equipment.
A female rehabilitation doctor also arrived with a massive entourage. They crowded in the doorway, too many to count, and since Clive always moves like an orang-utan from hand-hold to hand-hold under his own steam, he could see little point in their presence and asked that they wait outside.
Which they did, chatting and smoking, thick on the ground as the buds in the photo.
Only one gorilla-like male came in, once, to move our own pole which Clive needed to raise himself from the sofa – where he’d taken refuge late last night after the bed finally gave up the ghost.