Merry Christmas.
Vic's still in hospital. Her lungs appear, finally, to be improving, after having a pint of liquid removed from them, but there are further complications. The doctors appear, after a brief period of sorting their act out, to have reverted to their preferred slapdash approach — I'm too tired to start listing the examples. Anyway, we had hoped to bring Vic home for a few hours for Christmas dinner and some light present-opening, but my niece, bless her, has managed to come down with some sort of infection in the last day or so, and it would be just plain stupid for us to expose Vic to it. So she's staying in hospital for Christmas Day. It's a great shame.I have a duck roasting in the oven right now — yes, at two-fifteen in the morning — when else would I get the chance? So I'll take some cold roast duck round to the hospital tomorrow, and my mother-in-law will bring some turkey and vegetables, and it may all be pointless because Vic's got no appetite for food these days.
But you know what? It'll still be a good Christmas. The Christmases I've spent with Vic have been the best of my life, for the simple reason that she is who she is. And now there's Daisy, too, who started out fantastic and gets better every day. We'll have Christmas in a crap venue under crap circumstances, but it'll still be far better than a stressless and worry-free Christmas with anyone else.
Merry Christmas to the lot of you.
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