I’ve just spent 6 days incarcerated in the lovingly and thoughfully named Ward B3

The only company I’ve had has been 3 pensioners: A special clan consisting of a woman with a sore foot who professed a hatred for foreigners and foreign food (muck, as she put it), before opting for lasagne for tea (you know, lasagne, that classic British dish), a woman with far too many ailments to mention, but that she liked to remind you of every 10 minutes, and a woman convinced it’s 1989 thanks to a head injury.

AND I kept dreaming that Justin Lee Collins was trying to kill me.

It was awful. Truly awful.

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