In praise of hospital food
I’ve been in hospital, bed-bound, for six weeks; because I can write it’s not so bad, but between deadlines time passes slowly, so landmarks in the day come to mean a lot. Most of all, I look forward to my husband visiting at 3 p.m.; secondly, the meds trolley trundling towards me like a dear old open-handed friend at 9 a.m. – but a close third must be the bell which announces the arrival of meals: breakfast at 7 a.m., lunch at 12 p.m., dinner at 5 p.m. In the first bay I stayed in, I always made my ward-mates laugh by squealing with genuine glee when I heard it.
