Having been summoned back to London by my father - not as a death's door emergency, but as a "you'd probably better come sooner rather than later" call (which, as we all know, means that "sooner" definitely means better than speculating on "later") I was pleasantly surprised to find my mother downstairs - and then, within ten minutes of my arrival, the neighbors brining round their new baby, Rose, for show and tell. (The story's a bit more complicated than that, since they are both doctors, and therefore were casting an expert eye over my mother under the guise/disguise of a social visit. And one of them specializes in breast oncology - so of course was exactly the person I most wanted to talk to from another (and very encouraging) point of view.) But. It's been very surreal hurrying back at what's - let's say - not an optimum time ...
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