It got worse

No blog update so far this week, sorry folks, but everything I did since last time was paled into insignificance when I received a phone call yesterday evening to tell me that Alan had been rushed to hospital. He'd fallen from the scaffold at his house. He is going to be okay, has bad concussion, cuts grazes and bruises and a sore neck, keeping in until Sunday now, but he's still hoping to be out tomorrow. He can't remember what happened, luckily a neighbour heard, but he knows nothing about it, or the five hours between that and us at the hospital. They landed the air ambulance helicopter in his neighbour's garden, but in the end he was transported by road as the weather was too poor at Swansea. Last night was just awful, he was shaking, crying and couldn't speak properly or remember simple things like his date of birth. I've been there all afternoon and evening again today and he is much improved, but the neuro-surgeon still wants to keep him in for observation. Of course all Alan is worrying about is being at his dad's funeral on Monday. It never rains but it pours eh?