The slurping zebra.

Having spent the last week worrying about high temperatures we now have a new twist to the tale - low temperatures. Digby is reacting badly to the cortisone and his temperature has fallen sharply to just 36.5 degrees.He's also started to drink manically, slurping down a bowl of water every hour on the hour - day and night.The sound he makes as he hoovers up the liquid would do justice to a large herd of zebra at a watering hole. What goes in must of course come out and this morning he and his nursing staff were out in the garden for a 'pit stop' at 1.34 and again at 3.50. If the standard of posting starts to decline put it down to sleep deprivation.

Despite this latest setback we are both becoming much more confident that Digby's on the right track . What a horrible, horrible disease this is - jaundice, liver damage, anaemia and who knows what else all roled into one. He had his seventh set of blood tests yesterday and there is no sign of kidney problems - that is a huge relief. After the daily trip to the vets 'the font' spent much of yesterday making a healthy soup of beef, liver and vegetables to try to get iron and nutrients into his system. Digby, the intended recipient, wasn't sure about it but Wilf loved his - and his brothers.

The joiners came unexpectedly yesterday morning to continue with the installation of the library. Yves, Ross ( the wild haired Irishman) and the morose lad all showed up at eight. Ross has somehow hurt his back and is on morphine. He sat on a chair watching the other two work, his neck in a brace, and a pharmaceutically enhanced smile beatifically etched on his lips. He looked for all the world like one of those ninth century Irish saints in the midst of a vision. The morose lad has had his head totally shaved by his girlfriend ( badly) and was doing his adolescent best to look menacingly cool, a gauloise dangling unlit from his bottom lip. Something in me wanted to tell him that the light blue bib overalls detracted from the studied froideur. Digby spent much of his day positioned on a pile of blankets in the hallway to observe the comings and goings of our inept , glacially paced, woodworking trio.

Today is the day for the next committee meeting . On the agenda approval of the poster for the June concert in the village church. The two mutually loathing groups are due in half an hour. What's the betting the mayor starts off by saying there's no politics in this village?