After the usual poor first night in hospital, my charismatic surgeon swept in on her heels and natty trouser suit. She whipped off the attelle, the strapping which prevents one
Guess what. I am back in all too familiar surroundings: the ultra modern Clinique St Roch in Montpellier. And once again tapping this with one finger of the left hand.
When planning the trip I had not really taken in the departure times – that seemed so far into the future. Now I realised that with departure time of 8.45,