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Evil, where’s your troosers?

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Evil, where’s your troosers?

Events move on. A few days ago I was moved to the Alexandra Rehabilitation Unit, Princess Louise Nursing Home, Pangbourne Avenue, W10, in view of my supposed, albeit partial so far, recovery in the use of my legs. There is much to tell.

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I start with the matter of my pyjama bottoms. At Chelsea & Westminster, these were only required when I was scheduled to leave my room. As the nurse, aged 60, pointed out, the purpose of my genitals being covered was to protect my dignity (long ago lost, my dear) and my chastity. Given that I am 72 and, pursuant to fifty years of marriage, have two daughters, I would have thought that the maintenance of my chastity is a lost cause. I therefore found this regime pointless and tiresome.

However, at the ARU, things deteriorate in that my pyjama bottoms have to be put on when I get out of bed even though nobody can possibly see my genitals. In practice, the energies of one of the two nurses are devoted to seeing that my pyjama bottoms are slid on as I get up. I would much prefer that the hands were kept free to stop me falling – such a collapse has already occurred.

I wish the Royal College of Nursing could remedy this madness. It’s dangerous not to. When my eighteen stone hits the ground, it is not easily pulled back up.

The Mystery of the Eggs

Believe it or not, I took a weekday chance and asked for fried egg and bacon. I got it. Wonders never cease. So I tried my luck on Saturday only to be told that such an order was impossible since eggs have to come over from St Charles Hospital, a few hundred yards away. The difficulty here is that there are no egg processors at the weekend. However, I found out why a perfectly sensible fried egg inevitably arrives stone cold. I am now plotting a special egg-cooking device for ARU. I shall keep you informed.

Given that the tone of these comments so far might be thought critical of the (mainly) Philippino staff, I should stress that they are good-humoured and attentive and are of course only obeying NHS orders.

Therefore I need to escalate matters; anybody got Matt Hancock’s telephone number?

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