Rhubarb and custard

Rhubarb forcers at Attingham Park

Rhubarb, the devil's food, to:

• My sodding breathlessness which, after improving a little bit, seems to have stalled at bloody awful (unless I sit still)
• The arsey nurse at the Christie who wasn't happy about spending 5 nanoseconds to flush my port
• The jaw-droppingly racist taxi driver who took us from the Christie to Manchester Eye hospital earlier this week
• My long-term git of a chemist who excelled herself this week by thinking that being hospitalised and having stage IV cancer is no excuse for me not collecting my prescription on time

 A big bowl of thick steaming custard which is, of course, the food of the gods, to:

• The generous lady at the Maggie's Centre who shared her very posh chocolate biscuits with us, which restored our faith in human nature after the arsey nurse incident (see above)
• The helpful doctor's receptionist who painlessly sorted out changing chemist for me, so I never ever have to deal with gitface again
• Feeling well enough to get out last week, in the wheelchair of course, to Attingham Park where there were signs of spring

• And my own, admittedly slightly smaller, snowdrop display at Discombobulated Towers

Hey ho.  Life's rich tapestry eh?