A puck and a prayer


In which Our Heroine meets a Kindly Religious Granny and consumes a piece of sporting equipment

This is my last morning here, I am a couple of hours away from waving a not-fond farewell to Tallulah and packing my bags, then waiting around for several more hours impatiently surrounded by luggage like I’m at a train station, until all the discharges are sorted, as per usual.

So just a quick farewell blog to the glories of hospital cuisine, until next time in 7-9 months’ time.

No excitement yesterday: unless you count the delightful elderly relative of my neighbor, who, in the nature of the average Kindly Religious Granny that is common the world over *, popped in to say hello then patted me on the head and chest and said a very, very enthusiastic prayer for my good health, complete with eager gesturing towards the heavens.

Being of English stock and therefore automatically embarrassed by anything involving public religious observance, emotion, or especially emotional public religious observance, all I could do was blush furiously and mutter ‘Thank you, thank you, you are so terribly kind’ like a twit.

However I did think it was extremely sweet, and in fact I did have a very good night, so I am choosing to believe that her thoughtfulness was answered.

Right! Onto the nosh.

Yesterday one dear friend, a great epicurean, commented that the great accuracy of my mobile phone snaps was causing her some discomfort – so for her sake today I am taking steps to alleviate some of her pain.


Salade de boeuf aux étranges choses d’orange

Now as I believe I have observed before, I have much of the choosiness and intestinal fortitude of an ibis; but when I saw what awaited me for lunch even I recoiled.

It appeared to be a pile of shredded mystery DNA atop some random cubed electric-orange things with occasional embarrassed bits of green poking out.


Oh, god

For a wild few moments, the thought of Soylent Patients, planted by a commenter, came flooding into my mind, and my blood ran cold.

But then my Inner Ibis shrugged and picked up my fork anyway, and I’m glad it did, because it actually turned out pretty well. It was, in fact, shredded deli-style roast beef ** with pumpkin and carrot on burghul, with a bit of coral lettuce, and it was quite fresh and tasty and very filling.

Well, who knew?


‘Rondelle de hockey’ de thon avec des légumes en saison

This appeared to be a small dry puck of instant mashed potato containing a very, very small quantity of tuna, breaded and deep-fried about three days ago and served a la tiède.


What it lacked in flavour it made up for in determined texture, involving much sawing-at with my knife. But it was quite fortifying in its way: I had it at 5pm yesterday and as of 9:30am today I am still not the slightest bit hungry.

It was served with slightly watery zucchinis and tomato, which were actually both nice enough, and more of the ersatz mash, which wasn’t.

Well that about wraps it up for this time. I imagine that my immediate future holds a lot less reconstituted mash and far more fresh fish; at least I hope so!

Later XX


* You probably know one or two yourself. They exist throughout the world and in every known religion, but they all have the same three things in common: black clothes, very generous natures, and absolutely no boundaries when it comes to praying loudly in public.

** I hope.


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