I’m sitting here waiting for some news.

Some time today Daughter is having an operation on her leg.

In Lanzarote.

Now why would she have to go all the way to Lanzarote for an operation, you ask?

Knowing my Daughter as I do, there is of course a perfectly logical reason.

It started a month or two ago.  Daughter announced that she was going to take a holiday in the sun with some friends.  I had my reservations but she’s a grown woman and can do her own thing.  My reservations were based on experiences, as whenever she embarks on a project there is usually something unexpected that’s bound to happen.

I wished her well and last Friday week she flew off to her sunny spot in Lanzarote.

The next afternoon I got a phonecall from her.  That was nice of her as I had asked her to let us know if she had arrived safely.  However she told me not to panic, but that she was in hospital with a badly smashed up leg.  Apparently she fell off a push bike, damaged her knee and had broken her leg in two places.  Now I wasn’t in the least surprised.  I was just a bit taken aback as to how quickly she had managed to fuck things up.  Nor was I surprised at her falling off a push bike as I swear the last time she rode a bike it had little stabilisers on the back.

I’m not quite sure what happened and she’s a little vague herself.  It had something to do with another cyclist who was old, tall and who had a beard.  She blames everything on old tall blokes with beards so that was no surprise.  I’m off the hook this time though because apparently he was German.

Anyhows she has spent the time since on the flat of her back with a whacking great cast on her leg.  So far she has managed to get a bit of a tan, but only on her left arm as that’s as far as the sun reaches in her ward.  She is learning Spanish at a fierce rate as it’s a case of survival.  Misunderstandings in hospitals and in particular where surgery is involved are to be avoided at all costs.  Otherwise she may up with a heart transplant or a missing kidney.

We have been in touch every day.  We phone or use text.  She’s in good form if a little pissed off that she spent all that money just to lie in bed all day.  Can’t say I blame her.  She could have done that at home.

The operation is sometime today.  Last night I signed of out little chat by sending a wee message.

“Good luck with your début in theatre tomorrow.”

“Break a leg.”

She wasn’t amused.