Searching Google Images with a view to working on Smashword covers, several of which need replacing and I came across this
In 1963, this was St Lawrence’s, Bodmin. The first place within which I found asylum after what turned out to be a totally inadequate suicide attempt. Also the first creative writing experience since childhood. I had an idea I wanted to put down on paper and the psychiatrist gave me permission to stay up and out of bed for as long as it took. Believe me, that did not go down well with the night nurse. One of those pieces of writing which others said gave them goosebumps; which somewhere along the way I lost the copy. The underlying message read by the psychiatrist the next morning was given the choice of an easy way (asking for help) or my own way (finding my own way on my own) I would choose the latter. So that was my ticket to discharge.
Trying to recall which hospital it was in which I conducted a social experiential. Every morning the toast for breakfast was cold and hard as a rock. I asked for permission to use the toaster for a fresh, warm slice of toast. OH No. What would happen if EVERYONE wanted to do that? Persisted as never in the history of the human race has everyone ever agreed to do the same thing at the same time (was a good scene for sci-fi story read long ago). Upshot, first morning, yes, a rush for the toaster. Second morning and each thereafter, only two of us cared enough how we like our toast to make the effort.
I don’t know what I am trying to say in here. Just waffling? The Crows have lost tonight’s game. It is Saturday night. It has been raining … again. I have been all day getting a new/replacement virus checker program up and working.