I've never indulged in so much recreational eating and, at the end of it all, found that I'd lost weight.
Which, you know, supports the cancer (or any other wasting disease you want to contribute) theory. Except that my bloody HMO doctress left me a bright little message saying that my blood tests were perfect. No details, no numbers, just lots and lots of holiday cheer and a very subtle implication that I am probably mad. Not angry-mad, but more of a John-Barrymore-in-Svengali mad.
While I've been casting around for reasons to undergo blood transfusions, my father took the time to become genuinely ill. He had a heart attack. It was, I'm told, the best kind of heart attack you can have, and did very little damage, but he needs a bypass anyway so I'm packing up the Nut again and tomorrow we're flying to Denver. We will do our best to cheer the old guy up with interesting health facts. Dad, I will say, did you know that your nipples are made of the same type of skin as your penis?
Updates will again be suspended unless I can convince my father that now is the time to get an Internet hookup.