Twas midnight on a wild and windy night, when my delirious husband thought he heard the sound of breaking glass downstairs and, in spite of the pain from recent spinal fusion surgery, leapt from our bed shouting about burglars in the house. His long-suffering wife (that's me!) opened a bleary eye and, turning on the bedside lamp, watched her brave man as he staggered across the bedroom and rummaged in a corner, where he triumphantly raised a baseball bat kept there for potential burglar-whacking  activities. He was stark naked apart from a huge surgical dressing up his spine and, once the adrenalin wore off and pain took over again he swiftly turned as white as that dressing and called for our son.

James appeared swiftly, justifiable confused, dressed in a fetching ensemble of vest and red Christmas underpants, with an equally bemused and sleepy puppy in tow. They had been blissfully curled up in James' room, unaware of the other episodes of this night; Guido's groans of pain as he tried to get comfy in bed, his feverish sweats which had me up and down, changing damp sheets and pyjamas, wiping his brow and rearranging bedding.

The heroic duo, red underpants and pup sidekick, set off downstairs to tackle the burglars. Gripping the baseball bat firmly, James went barefoot into our cellar, making burglar-scaring noises and shouting threats on his way. Pup, completely confused, followed him half way down the stairs to watch the scene. He, the fearless defender, who barks at everything all day long - his biscuit tin when he's hungry, shadows, objects which are out of place - remained stoically silent, well aware that there were no intruders, and yawned.

I helped Guido back to bed and pulled on a dressing gown before rushing to the kitchen to choose my weapon. I was convinced that Guido had imagined it all in his fevered state but, better to be safe! I contemplated the knives but knew full well that I'd never be able to use one on anybody. I settled for a heavy frying pan and crept downstairs to take up position by the cellar door, ready to wallop anyone who showed their heads.

I really half hoped that someone would come up. I felt like bashing someone very, very hard and screaming, shouting and jumping up and down on their bodies afterwards. I was perfectly calm and not a bit stressed by recent events!

Of course the garage was empty. Up came barefoot son, hobbling from the stone he'd stood on down there, followed by faithful hound. Son trotted off to reassure his dad that all was well. Dog spotted the frying pan and perked up - food possibilities! He was so disappointed when I replaced the pan without cooking anything.

Back in the bedroom, I felt Guido's brow (feverish) so administered a damp cloth and sympathy while James and Drake went back to bed.

All was well until about an hour later. I was finally deeply asleep when I heard Guido say something,

"What?", I croaked, struggling through layers of exhaustion.

"How are you?" he asked, sweetly.

Mustering some strength and a lot of patience I answered that I was fine, just had a bit of cold.

"Ok". Much rustling and struggling ensured as he turned over. The light came on. More painful manoeuvres and the darling presented me with a glass of water.

"Why, I don't want it!"

" Why did you ask for it then?"

They might have fixed his spine but I think we need to get his ears checked!


Goodnight all 


The next day and all is well :)

guido-and-james-after-op