I'm not sure what this picture has to do with anything, but it fills up the page quite nicely. It is now about 4 weeks since Berny got ill. Things are going a little better, but she cannot stoop or sit down for long. It is still vey painful and she sometimes tries to do too much at once. The bed in the living room does enable her to have a social life what with the constant ebb and flow of the coffe table visitors, the pots always warm and on constant standby. And the bed is perfectly located as an ideal central observation platform from which to direct execution of household tasks and to effect the dictation of terms generally and the calling of any odds needing a call. And with a panoramic view of the carpark, the stall and the Hoogeweg, not to mention the web-cam, nothing escapes her eagle eye. We, along with her colleagues all wish her a speedy recovery, especialy those who would normally be at home for most of the week and the accountibility of whose movements may have gained in the rigidity department. We go twice a week to the fizzio. I have just had my first trip taking Bernadet and found it most relaxing watching someone else being pummelled, stretched and distorted by a muscular lady therapist. I found it so relaxing that I fell asleep and had to be awoken as my snoring was disturbing the session.

I digress at this moment. I am still in the Open Learning Centre. It is rather quiet as it is Exam Week. A group of charmless young ladies has just entered. They have nothing to do and are fully dressed for going home. Scarves, raincoats the lot. Some of them have thier scooter crash helmets and gloves on, and are having loud but muffled conversations from the insides of their helmets. They cannot go home yet as they must await a piece of paper. They are not the brightest of the bunch and I have not seen them here before. One appears to have furry moonboots and several overcoats. It is quite warm in here. She is complaining that she smells. "Ireen! Yer gottny Deo?". Irene produces from her duffle bag a huge cylinder that would be the envy of British Oxygen, and the large student, without unbuttoning her coat, manages to worm it through strata of wool and nylon until the offending armpit is reached. The insertion of the gas may temper the sweaty depression, but it also displaces the originally trapped air and forces it outwards, enriching itself as it passes through layers of cloth and plastic, collecting other smells en route. The deodorant, spearmint flavour, this mornings rain on wool plus the expulsion of foul, sweat-moistened air that has been trapped under layers of synthetics for god knows how long, pours over me in an avalanche. As if this were not bad enough, she has discovered a most interesting trick for our amusement. By pumping her substantial arm up and down, causing layers of wet fat to enfold and release the wet cylinder, she can cause the can to squeal and fart to the rhythm of 'Rudolf, the red-nosed reindeer' while her three cronies fall about the floor, cackling like witches in Macbeth. I have ejected them all, but not before requesting the use of the deo to spray around my desk.

Anyhoo, back to the Bernyherny of life. Poor Bernadet has been going around for a while with two huge elastic plasters in the form a a giant X from bum to shoulder. This is to pull her shoulders back, and she walks like a penguin following a plane flying overhead. It has been very hard for her and she has been voluntarily reducing the pain-killers to avoid dependence. Today the big X would be removed. The fizzio gripped the ends of the X. We all gritted our teeth and closed our eyes. When I opened mine, the X was gone with narry a wimper. Most disappointing.

Anyhoo, it's coffe time again, so I'll leave you with this picure which I entitle 'Merel on a horse'.

By the way, it is going much better with both Merel and Thijs. I think we have all changed and it is alll going along so much better. See you in a bit.