Sometimes being told isn't enough

 30% had arranged to visit her old friend Pinky today.

Her condition has much improved. At one point it was a case of "prepare for the worst". Now they are talking about a "complete recovery, taking six to twelve months." She is still in intensive care, but the periods of ventilation and sedation are being reduced. Her eyes are open and she can respond to verbal prompts to squeeze one's hand.  Her slow recovery begins.

What I haven't mentioned is that Pinky moved to Rhayader a few years back, so is ensconced in the Intensive Care Unit of Aberystwyth Hospital.  That is a a fair trek from these parts, so today I was left home alone to keep the dogs company, whilst 30% headed out on the train to deepest Wales.

I dropped her off at the station just before nine, and spent the morning mostly pottering. I read a little, but became increasingly frustrated with the book I had selected.* 

I took delivery of the Enfield's Vac Bag this afternoon, and headed out to the garage to finish cleaning the front wheel. I have found that a gently rub with wire wool and metal polish work wonders on the tarnished spokes.

I returned to the house to keep the dogs company, lighting a fire in the late afternoon. 30% called just before seven to advise that she would be in Redditch at "half past."

I collected her from the station and listened as she recounted her day. She was exhausted by the travelling and the experience of the hospital visit, but buoyed by the fact that her friend's condition is greatly improved. I think she needed the reassurance of seeing Pinky with her own eyes.

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* I say "selected," in reality it was more a case of it being forced upon me.  It is the fifth instalment of a fantasy series, and, being a completer/finisher, I felt compelled to read the entire series.  The first two volumes were a great read, but three and four were repetitive, and filled with page after page of nothing. There were occasional bouts of excitement that were just enough to keep the dedicated reader interested, but I admit to skipping large chunks frequently. The final volume was the final straw. I got about one hundred and fifty pages in and couldn't bear reading another sentence. It has been replaced in the bookcase and I will never take it out again.