Sundae is still in hospital and getting better although it is something of a slow process. She'd hoped to be out today (Friday) but it was not to be, so a stay until after the weekend seems likely.

Understandably she is, by her own admission, somewhat low spirited, although this is by no means a constant condition.

Sundae has had a couple of minor procedures which have caused more than a little discomfort and she describes herself as 'sore but healing'.

Fortunately she has her mobile phone with her and we've been exchanging text messages several times a day.

BTW, the above details are posted with Sundae's approval.

Thank you for keeping us in the loop. I started worrying on the way home from work.

Thanks, Carruthers.

Carruthers is a good egg.







Sidestep: Many years ago, when I was young and stupid and most of my friends were drug dealers and oddballs, 'good egg' was the highest compliment that could be paid to anyone. Always used to make me smile that. When Nutty Paul (I'm not being bitchy, that was how he was known by all and to his face) a man seemingly carved from granite and graffitied with self-applied tattoos, would say in all seriousness, in his thick Bolton accent that this or that person was a good egg.

That's a given for a gentleman of your distinction.
But be aware, you are allowed to rat her out to us without it. :lol:

Thanks for letting us know. That sounded scary.

Keep your chin up, sundae, you can weather this.

(Good egg is a great phrase. I use it sometimes too.) :)

I believe that. I really do.:thumb::thumb:

Thank you, kind sir, for the info on our Sundae.

I know a guy who we all refer to as Crazy Paul. I kid you not. And that's how everyone refers to him, too, even when talking to him. He's crazy, and he knows he's crazy. I think that makes him just a little bit saner than the other crazy people.

Small world. Or Crazy Paul really gets around!

Crazy Joe Davola.

There was a sitcom here about a pot dealer, set entirely in his flat, as his friends and customers dropped in and out - his scary supplier was known as Mad Paul.

Along with Nutty Paul, I also had friends who went by the names of Mad Sharon, Fingers Geoff, Nervous Pete, Little Pete (to differentiate him from Big Pete, who moved out of the area before I lived there), Kenny the Burglar and Dancing Max (who died tragically young)

Sounds like an East End (of London) gang!


Sent by thought transference

At first glance yes - but put in context, it's significantly naffer. You have to imagine all of those names pronounced with a Bolton accent, whilst sitting in a shabby Bolton bedsit.

Think Phoenix Nights: (nsfw language)



Funny thing is, aside from Mad Sharon* it was mainly only the lads who had nicknames like that.

*with whom I once spent a memorable afternoon, whilst the lads were all off doing some shit or other at the garage, as she showed me Faces of Death and waxed lyrical about how she watches it several times a day and she rewinds the bit where the guy's jaw collapses during a firing squad execution many more times - thankfully she'd watched it so much the tape had worn and the image was snowy and the sound crackly - she then topped that off by saying how much she liked spending time with me as I was the only one that seemed to 'get' her - cue frozen in place warm and friendly smile. I never found out if the rumours of her having an axe in her bedroom were true and nor did I seek to

K. I'll stop hijacking the thread now :P

Chin Up Sundae, lass, we're all thinking of you.

Well it's obvious now she needs a Bolton Gang Name to cheer her up.

Just checking in/catching up ... feel better, Sundae! And thanks, Carruthers, for the update.