I had an email from Dru that wasn’t from Dru. It was her daughter, ambushing Dru’s email account like a policeman at the door – Dru had spent the night at A & E, she was being kept in hospital, she had to have an operation.
This news came across like smoke signals from the young: the smoke was bad but the signals were cheery. The message ended:
P.s dru’s mobile is out of charge so don’t try to ring it L
What were the Indians trying to say? How bad is L?
I wouldn’t say I panicked, but I googled Bristol Hospitals and started with the Royal Infirmary, thinking I could work down from there. Right first time. They did indeed have a Drusilla Marland on the wards, and yes, I could speak to her on the old-fashioned telephone.
Except Dru wasn’t exactly on the wards, she was somewhere north of Planet Nebula. She was on the wrong side of most of Bristol’s Royal painkillers, but at least they’d done their job. Those gallstones were sending out pain that was no longer reaching the brain. Dru tells me (because she is still in there) that an operation is imminent.
She came back to earth just once, to report that the Trav was parked outside and had a ticket on it.
I did what everyone does with health problems and looked gallstones up on the Internet. They are very painful, the internet says, and the condition is twice as likely to be suffered by women as men. The operation is usually successful.
At Schloss Marland, I’m glad to say, normal transmission should shortly be resumed.