From the Orlop

I have been under the knife again.

My surgeon has dismantled my mouth, bored out the fistula in my upper jaw, and repaired me with a surgical membrane "of porcine origin" (I found that strangely pleasing). Over this he pulled the skin and subcutaneous fat from my gum, heaved down to provide a suitable overlap. This involved many stitches and one hour forty five minutes of what I think it is fair to describe as significant discomfort, followed by an evening of considerable pain. But I am repaired. Rebuilt. Remodelled.

Of course today my face appears to have been inflated like a football. Add to this that my daily intake is now 23 pills, my back is extremely sore and I am forbidden alcohol until I have finished the antibiotics, and you might think that I was downhearted. Not a bit of it. I am in fine fettle -albeit of freakish appearance. Because, believe me, once you have felt liquid leaking out of your skull into your mouth, you will look fondly on anything that promises to call a halt on such proceedings. Pain, after all, is transitory. Obviously, I didn't see things this way last night. And I am sure I would have taken a very different view had I not been dosed up to eyeballs with codeine yesterday afternoon.But the wonderful thing about civilisation (or what we have that approximates to one) is that I don't have to undergo surgery on the basis of cheap rum and a thwack on the head with a mallet.

And all this was provided by the National Health Service. Gawd Bless 'em.