Thursday, January 5, 2017
The thick pea souper.
Thick fog rolls in. From the drawing room window we can just make out the illuminated 'Joyeuses' Fetes sign glimmering on the church porch but all the rest is grey impenetrable mist. A very muffled silence shrouds the village.
The PONs are oblivious to the thick pea souper outside. Bob helps me take down the tree. 'Help' in this sense being a relative term.
Sophie prefers the comfort of the kitchen. She carefully monitors the preparation of the pork roast.
Bob can hold his head straight again, the drooling has eased and he has regained some, if not all, of the use of his tongue. 'The Font' is now less sure that the right eyelid is showing signs of working. On balance we're coming to the view that it's not the problem that we'd feared and is instead somehow related to his interpretation of his sisters incapacity.
We've decided to delay the MRI as a) it would upset him ; b) because he's not in any pain or discomfort and c) the problem seems to be resolving itself - albeit slowly. Protecting the eye is now our only real worry.
The hardware store eerily quiet. That time of the year when everyone has spent their money.