Crackles

I’m glad about the crackles, he said during supper. She hadn’t found any. She’d got me to lean forward on the bed and take deep breaths through my mouth as she listened through her stethoscope. Nothing. And the oxygen intake was a hundred per cent. So all good. He seemed pleased. But they will still do all the tests. Am I wasting the NHS’s money? It seems so. Best be sure, she said. Blood, ECG, something to do with an echo and a chest X Ray. Pitted and prodded. So be it. It seems to make him happier. And he is. Happy.

They’ve started painting the Prom railing. A long job. A sign of summer. Make it look its best. Even if it does look like an Iberian building site most of the time. Oh. And the Lifeguards’ Hut is out too. Nice.

So much to do. Will he like it?