It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. I'm sure Charles Dickens was having a premonition about my day today when he wrote A Tale of Two Cities in 1859. The case for the negative. A wake up phone call some time after 5am from my mother in Rome. She had been robbed probably on a crowded bus. I spoke to her about cancelling credit cards and went back to finding another lung to cough up. I finished my antibiotics today. I'm still coughing, the sort of cough that Charles Dickens wrote about in such works as Dombey and Son. But then the day improved. Three weeks after being sent to hospital, I brought my neighbour Margaret home today. She was delighted. So were my dogs. And then because it was international Take Your Dogs to Work Day, Rumple and Winkle accompanied me into the city to meet Charles at his office. They took their place at the boardroom table overlooking the Story Bridge. Happy Days.
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