I got out at the right time, though; I can live on my pension, so long as I’m careful.
It’s all changed now—I’m glad I’m not there anymore. All the messing about they’ve done with it.
In my day, it was a proper public service...” Raymond was nodding.
“That’s right,” he said. “Remember when you used to get your post before you left the house in the morning,
and there was a lunchtime delivery too? It comes in the middle of the afternoon now, if it comes at all...”
I have to admit, I was finding the post office chat somewhat tedious.
“How long are you likely to be in here, Sammy?” I said.
“I only ask because the chances of contracting a postoperative infection are significantly increased for longer-stay patients—
gastroenteritis, Staphylococcus aureus, Clostridium difficile—” Raymond interrupted me again.
“Aye,” he said, “and I bet the food’s rank as well, eh, Sammy?” Sammy laughed.
“You’re not wrong there, son,” he said. “You want to see what they served up for lunch today.
Supposed to be Irish stew... looked more like Pedigree Chum. Smelled like it too.” Raymond smiled.
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