Sunday, March 05, 2006

We don't know where we're going 'til we're there

The walls of this place don't like me, confided the tea lady, by way of explaining her habit of walking a dead-straight course down the very centre of the corridors, equidistant from any and all nearby threat. I had come to look forward to the squeak-squeak approach of her urn trolley, making its slow progress towards the ward, with perhaps a jam tart on the second tier for me, on a little plate by itself. I wonder what they've done with her?


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