Since I was delivered back home from three weeks in a hospital bed I’ve been getting daily visits from district nurses, healthcare visitors and physiotherapists.
As soon as I arrived I found a bed installed in our front room. It barely fits – the mantelpiece had to be removed.
Somebody pointed out that Vincent van Gogh’s picture of his bed stands above Vincent Mulder’s.
In defence I say that mine is usually tidier than this. You might be reminded of Tracey Emin’s “Unmade Bed” . . .
It has big wheels to go over rough ground easily; also brakes above and below. My physiotherapist showed me how I don’t have to lift this heavy chariot up and down high kerbs and similar obstacles. Kick a footbrake down and it rolls easily.
Ten minutes stroll on the Desborough Road and we arrive at the Bus Station, from which you can travel seamlessly to anywhere in Great Britain and the wide world. Which makes me think of Cat Stevens:
a wayfarer’s notes 
Freshly updated today.
Next post will describe some of what I witnessed in the 25 days I spent in hospital, not stinting on tasteful references to accidents, which occur when you’re strictly not allowed to get out of bed without pressing the buzzer for a nurse’s attention
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Updated with major changes today
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Good to see you getting home from the hospital.
I like your idea on healthy strolls.
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The NHS has been specially kind to me since my discharge from hospital. I’ve been getting daily visits from nurses, care workers on contract and sometimes physiotherapists. They come to check how well I’m recovering from the procedure to fix my spine wth bits in the lower back worn out from a lifetime of scoliosis
He
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