WHEN I wake there’s another tray of ‘food’ beside the bed. The only thing I mange to get over my neck is the yoghurt…and the coffee and orange juice are the highlight!

During the morning there’s a couple fo routine blood pressure, blood sugar, pulse and temperature checks as well as more blood taken. The nurse thinks I might get discharged today, but it’ll be a few hours before the blood results are back and at the doc comes round.

Margaret’s had to check out the apartment she was in last night. No point in booking another night there as we don’t know what’s likely to happen…and all the main bags/gear are in storage at the hotel near the airport.

When the doctor comes round she says I can go home! I quiz her about the vomiting (which took me to the hospital in the first place) and the diverticularitis flare up which has kept me there. She is adamant there’s no connection. Funny that – this pattern has happened twice now. I’ll be on the blower to the doc back home first thing in the morning for another appointment and rattle some cages. We can’t keep going on like this – every trip will be a game of Russian roulette.

Margaret gets to the hospital mid-afternoon. I’m dressed, packed and waiting and we go into the lounge so Margaret cans peak to the insurance company re flights home and what we should do for accommodation tonight. We get dirt flights tomorrow (Monday) and we’re given the go-ahead to return to the airport hotel for the night.

Meantime our pal Leif comes to pick us up from the hospital and take us to the hotel which is a good half hour away – saves us three bus changes and god knows how much farting about to try and get their under our own steam.