Adelaide April 2009 the Royal Adelaide Hospital

Adelaide hospital



I was becoming breathless. It was painful to breathe…

“Alicia- do you think you could take me to the hospital? I’m having trouble breathing.”

In casualty they tried to send me away with panadene.

I wasn’t having that. “No, I’ve been on that all day and I’m finished with that stuff.”

“I’ll give you something stronger then…”

Back to Alicia’s house.

I got worse suddenly.

Gasping : “Alicia, can’t breathe”.

“Kenny will take you back to the hospital .”

Kenny and Maria delivered me to casualty..

“Do you want me to do this or will you do it?” The nurse said

I grasped the huge pear-shaped tablet and inspected it closely. I intuited that it was a suppository. I had heard other people talking about them. I’d never done this before . A suppository was supposed to block you up and prevent diarrhoea –wasn’t it?

I looked at it again and hesitated.

The nurse repeated “Are you going to do this or am I?

She was humourless and solemn.

“I’ll do it myself.” I said.

It was quite easy really.

I thought to myself: “ Here I am in agony. Can’t breathe, and all they are worried about is me shitting on the floor!”

Maria later told me that this was wrong. My knowledge of the functions of a suppository was inaccurate.. According to her they ‘dissolve’ and are absorbed and can be used for many ailments. I thought they were just used to constipate one’s colon so that one didn’t...you know ..

“Hello, Mr Nixon this Dr X”

I could dimly see above me a catscan of my lungs.

“ Mr. Nixon, you are in Casualty at the RAH and you have had a pulmonary embolism, in fact several. Can you see them?”

He looked like a teddy bear and sounded like ‘Big Brother’ in George Orwell’s “1984”

Like everyone else around me The Doctor looked about the same age as my sons.

I groaned. I could see the embolisms in my lungs. What did he want me to do- introduce myself and talk to the bloody things or what?

“We are going to admit you now..”

Have your bowels moved at all?

The bloke opposite me had had a major operation to remove his lymph nodes under his arm. He was drugged, groggy, but good-humoured in spite of the pain. .

He paused “Not for a few days” he said innocently.

The nurse seemed happy at this news. “Oh well, I think we’ll have to give you an enema, then” she said cheerily.

“Would you like one?”

He realized his mistake but continued to be amiable-like all Aussies males are expected to do in such circumstances.

“Well, no I think not” he said casually, “ I’m just nervous and I haven’t eaten for a few days. I think that’s why”

She went away to check with the Doctor..

I took careful note of this conversation

When she came to me she said

“Mr Nixon? Date of birth?

“14/07/1952”

I was waiting for her to ask me for the number of my mobile. How presumptious! Some people don’t have mobiles. I’d be offended if I were one of them.

But she didn’t ask me for my mobile number. Instead, she said

“And have you moved your bowels today?”

Yes, I lied . Twice.

“Good”

I was in hospital for ten days and only did a dump once.

As my good friend Len used to say. ‘ Sometimes in life you will need guile, Don’




“Good morning Petuh,.” Said a polite voice with a foreign accent on skype.

“G’day Charles” drawled Peter. “Yeyess, I can do that.

“. Yeyess…Charles, I can get you the stuff for twenty million. But I need two weeks –is that ok?”

“Yeyess Charles . No problem I need two weeks . Is that ok?’

It was the middle of the night in the Royal Adelaide Hospital Thorax ward.

I had been admitted two nights previously with breathlessness.

The previous night Peter in the opposite corner of the little ward had been stretchered in from Emergency with some balance disorder which was causing him to throw up violently.

“Yeyess Charles.” Petuh repeated evenly.” I need two weeks to get you the twenty million.”

At this time of the night? Drugs? Arms deal? I pretended to be asleep.

“Well, Charles, Pete drawled in his gravelly voice, I’m in an awkward place at the minute. You see, I have no income. But if you give me two weeks I will have the twenty million for you.”

I was concerned that Charles’ ‘Muscle’ was going to arrive in the ward at any moment and I was going to be part of the collateral damage. There would be no witnesses. They were all asleep

I went back to sleep.

The next night Robert Semmens was stretchered in to the bed beside me . He’d had a stroke while visiting his G.P.

I could hear a young woman’s voice whispering urgently to him..

“What is your name? “Where are we Robert? Do you know the name of the Australian Priminister?

What silly questions? Was I cracking up? Or was this some sort of game show? The voice sounded just like my own daughter’s! My daughter had been having some adjustment problems recently and had been behaving strangely. I was convinced she was in the next cubicle with Robert.

“Nurse, Nurse,” I said

Yeah? Said a male nurse.

Can you just check if my daughter is next door. I think she may have come to visit me and gone to the wrong cubicle?

“What is your name? Who is the Priminister of this country?”

My daughter had been telling me how well she had done recently in her Australian studies.

I thought she had flipped and was entertaining Robert in the next cubicle.

“Nurse, Nurse!”


“No, I’ve already checked –it is one of our staff. It is not your daughter.

“But nurse, please can you check just once more. I am sure I heard her voice”

“Now look, mate,” said the nurse. He was irritated , angry even, “ I’m beginning to get worried about you. You’ve got a lot of narcotics in you mate. Your daughter is not next door!”

A few moments later a female nurse came to see me. She was about forty. She smiled.

“It was me who was next door! Routine procedure for a new arrival”

Next morning ‘Petuh’ looked a mess. He was washed out and exhausted. Completely dishevelled. He was the speaker of the South Australian Parliament.

Robert was an ‘old money liberal’ from a well-heeled Adelaide family. He told me his life story later. It wasn’t particularly interesting. Full of the usual good luck stories told by Aussie males to each other. About how people had been queueing up to offer him a job when he left school and then when he left university. etc. They made me sick: I’d heard them so many times before. Not what I wanted to hear when the only queue I was in was for the dole.

He’d had a dissolute but very enjoyable life, and I reckon Robert hadn’t done a day’s real work in his life. A former politician, he was now a government accountant.

The two of them knew each other and they were old political rivals. Peter Lewis was Labour and Robert a Liberal.. Together, they were hilarious. Aussies are so verbally articulate and witty. The two of them were a real laugh:

My landlady’s boyfriend is called Kenny. I don’t know what he does apart from servicing Alicia from time to time. He speaks no English. He is outside at the moment using a pneumatic drill at present –laying down some tiles on Alicia’s patio..

They had one spectacular row-but Kenny came running back like “Tuya” the desexed dog. Actually ‘Tuya’ is in the doghouse at present. He’s been blamed for poohing in the shower and has been sent back to puppy school for retraining..Poor tuya!. There’ll be a lot of CONMFK at puppy dog retraining school. Maybe CONMFK* for dogs is not so bad as I think it is for humans. Alicia told me she thinks it is ‘chile’ the Chiuahua who is the real culprit. This could be the beginning of the end for my Lesbian friends. Alicia is a formidable lady-but she smiles and is polite. And she doesn’t wear black. I could never imagine her in black. That’s the thing about Asian females. They don’t wear black.

“STIP” Stay in the present, I read somewhere. Damn good advice. That is how I survived Brunei for nine years. ‘Stay in the Present’ I would say to myself the night before term started as I went to sleep after taking my sleeping tablet..

“It worked. I survived didn’t ?”

What has Kenny got to do with all this? I don’t know. I like it when they argue away in Chinese and I don’t understand a word they are saying. Maybe Kenny feels like Tuya. I mean that Alicia is a formidable lady. But no, I don’t think so. Alicia often has a big smile on her face.

The noisy night is over and the morning arrives. Hospital wards are active at night. People constantly need painkillers and drugs.

“Have you heard the news? Says Robert animatedly? The rising intonation is correct. We perk up expectantly.

“ I went back to bloody sleep!” He said with perfect falling intonation.

Peter Lewis began to chuckle. He had a slow gravelly voice.

“You know the liberal party needs someone with a lime (lame) leftwing”–he drawled. He was referring to Robert’s left arm which had been paralised with the stroke.

I laughed out loud and hurt my lungs.

God! they were funny those two.

The first night I awoke at three am in agony. The painkillers had worn off. I couldn’t breathe. I stood up. No good. I sat down again . No good. Then I crouched on the bed –supporting myself by holding the bed with one arm. This was the only painfree position I could adopt.

“Please Nurse!”

Can I have painkillers?

How many have you had?

“I dunno.You should know” I thought to myself. “You’ve written them down.”

“ Give me the strong ones”, I squeaked “oxycodons.”

There was to and fro-ing with charts and confusion. They didn’t know what I’d had.

“Sit on the bed” with falling intonation, said the nurse-like the matron in Fawlty towers.

I couldn’t move as I was in the only pain free position on the entire planet.

I can’t!

“Sit on the bed” she repeated!

“I can’t. I’m in pain… duuh!”.

Saying “Duuh” required an exhalation of breath- which hurt me even more. But it was worth it.

“No need to be rude. I’m only a student” She flounced off back to her den. She was wearing black.

They gave me Panadene and left me standing there clutching the bed. I was glued to the bed like ‘Dante’s thinker’ for half an hour until the painkiller took effect.

The next night I was confused again.

I heard Robert next door in real distress. He was throwing up all over the place. From what I could hear he was on the floor with his head on the ground. The hospital staff wanted him to get back into bed but he knew if he lifted his head he would throw up.

“WE need you to get back into bed so we can inject you?”

“I can’t, I can’t” he groaned. I’ll throw up!

“No , you won’t you’ll feel better!”

“No, I won’t I’ll bloody throw up . How the hell would you know anyway you’re not the one who’s bloody sick?”

“I need you to give me the back of your hand!”

The Speaker of the house groaned, wretched, , and threw up violently.

Next morning. I glanced to my left. Robert was fine? But Peter, in the opposite corner looked like death warmed up.

It was Peter who had been sick in the night. He had been able to crawl across the floor almost as far as my bed before the nurses intercepted him.

Not very dignified for the speaker of the house.

Not to worry. I think Peter’s reputation will remain intact as I’m the only one who’ll ever remember the incident.

Unless somebody reads this some day and then meets Peter Lewis.

Sheilas


“Here comes one” I said to myself

What is it with Aussie women?

What’s your beef ladies?

Is it the history?

Is it your men?

Or is it you?

“What do you mean what do I mean?”

“I mean can there be any excuse for just how rude and overbearing you are?”

“Your intonation is appalling”

“You speak to strangers like they’re dogs.!”

Have you seen the matron in the Fawlty towers episode where she ‘shoes’ Basil out of the hospital ward when he is visiting his wife Sybil?

“You are like the Matron, ladies!”

“Number ten’ says the tall and lithe vampire at the IMVS.

“How can I help you then?” Her barely disguised contempt is betrayed by the inappropriately falling , not rising, intonation.

They all wear black. It makes them look even more vampirish.. For God’s sake any colour is more feminine than black. The SS wore black, girls. Anything but black!

I showed her my piece of paper from my GP for the blood test.

I had been fasting and come by bicycle and was feeling dizzy. I had just come out of hospital a few days ago and felt woozy..

There was a notice which said : “If you are fasting or feeling unwell please tell the nurse”


“You do realise that you have to wait here for two hours” said Denise. Her tone of voice was like the one I would have imagined that guard at Auschwitz ( Irma Grease?) used.

“No, my GP didn’t say”

“Well, she said without the slightest hint of sympathy . Do you want to reschedule or will you come through?”

“What?” I said irritably,

“What?” She said back irritably,

“Life is difficult” I grinned inanely at her.

“Only if you make it so” retorted Denise.

“Uh?” I said. Was this Sheila having a go at me?

“When you get over 50” I said, life is more difficult. You have to have things repeated to you”

“ Well then, are you coming through? If so, you can’t leave the building for two hours, you know.”

I was damned if I was going away because she wanted me to.

We sat in sulky, dismal silence for ten minutes while she took two blood samples.

I was dizzy and semi-conscious.

I resumed hostilities:

“I can do without the home-spun philosophy” I said

“What?” She said.

I don’t expect to receive your philosophial views on life in this context?

What?

“You implied life was only difficult if you make it difficult for yourself.” I said “meaning that you think I am making life difficult for myself”


“I didn’t mean that” she said.

“Well why did you say it then?” I thought to myself

“Which arm do you want me to use?”

Again, the falling intonation. Appalling. So rude.

My right arm was bruised and ugly from the warfarin and the clumsy blood tests of a Junior Doctor in the hospital.

“Well obviously not that one” I drawled, showing her my arm.

She was spitting chips.

She yanked my arm into place and took the blood sample.

I was going to have to wait for two hours after drinking some glucose.

Stony silence.

Can I post a letter?

“Nao”

Again, the falling intonation.

This one was rude. She was asking for it.

“Naow you wite for two hours and you can sit over there”

There were three rows of chairs sitting along the walls –just like a Doctor’s surgery.

There was nothing on the walls –not a poster or photograph nor a soft chair in the room.

No newspaper. I couldn’t even see any magazines. The room was completely empty.

Just the two of us. An occasional “customer” came and went. She was ever so polite to them.

We continued to sit in silence studiously ignoring each other and avoiding eye –contact. I was seething.

After half an hour I said

“Can I suggest you have a soft chair and some newspapers put in here for people like me?”

“What? We’re new here.” I have a newspaper ordered. She said dismissively.

Again the intonation was wrong.

Many Aussie females speak like they have had ‘assertiveness training ’. It’s not natural. There is no humility. They speak like they’re selling you something. They don’t make requests. They ‘command’ you to do things by the tone of their voice.

I find it intimidating. I suppose that’s why they do it.

That’s a bad sign. I have it on good authority that the ESL “industry’ in Adelaide is run by women.

I don’t think I could work with them again.



Girls, I think all this ‘assertiveness’ is affected and learned. It could be changed.

Now, I think I understand why my landlady’s dog is so popular with the girls in my house. He is a lovely spaniel who just rolls over when you go near him and invites you to scratch him.

He’s been desexed.

“You’ll be over 50 some day too, you bitch” I thought to myself.

I feel weak –maybe it’s the post hospital malaise. Like I’m in second gear climbing a steep hill. My feet are leaden. No appetite.

I’m off to the city (Adelaide) on my bicycle.

I’m going to buy Gogol’s “Diary of a Madman” or “Dead souls’.

No particular reason. I think I just like the titles.




* for the uninitiated CONMFK is the acronym for “Corporate, Orwellian, New Millenium Fuckspeak”

2009 Abu Dhabi 3 Interlude in Ireland back to Madinat Zayed

Madinat Zayed Part 4.

“C______”, I said at Belfast airport

“N_______” said C

“This is a tough one”

I got in his car and while driving to Lurgan I told him all about it.

at a sligh ttangent: The Australian Psychological Association recommends that a counsellor charge me 200 dollars per hour for a counselling service to help me deal with my family’s adjustment problems . My wife gets paid 16 dollars an hour . She has a degree and a Post Graduate degree from an Australian University. Although she is a teacher she is working as a child care worker at present at a Montessori school.

John Howard’s Australia…

I called one of these counselling Sheilas before I went into hospital. She was ok and when the hour was up she dutifully extended her hand for the 150 dollars.

“Will you be coming back next time?”

“ Yes, I think so. If I get re-registered with medicare.”

“Well, you’ll get 115 back then next time”

I was due to meet with her the day after I was taken into hospital. From my hospital bed I summoned the Doctor and asked him to postpone the appointment.

When I got out of hospital I phoned to make another appointment with her. The receptionist said she would call back to me. That was a week ago.

Now that is what gets me. I could be dead for all that Sheila counselor for the Australian Psycological Assocation knows or cares!

Is it any wonder people are shooting each other randomly? I could shoot a few myself.

I phoned a few others today-names given to me by my G.P. Not one of them spoke to me or called me back. Probably all having a ball with the recession exploiting everyone’s extra stress.

Two hundred dollars an hour? Medicare pays only 115. So that would be 85 a week. The dole is about 230 a week.

Actually, John Hunt did ring me back a couple of days later-twice in fact.

I explained what I was looking for.

“ Well I may be able to help but I don’t have anything until May.” said John amiably.

It was the beginning of April.

“Oh” , I said, “I might be dead by then”..

‘What?’ He said

“Well, I said, things seem to me to be a bit laid back in counselling in South Australia”

“I’m not laid back- I’m busy!”

Oh! lucky you, I thought to myself.

Ok , ‘No worries’ he said, and put the phone down

“Yeah, no worries for you mate’ I thought.

You’d think it was a barbecue we were organising.


Later that afternoon he called again. “Actually , Don we do have a practice in Gawler place which might be able to help you”

“Thanks for that” I said.

“Don’t worry, John” I thought to myself. “I’m not going to top myself.”

Cover that ass, John!

I’ll ask Centrelink for a counsellor when I claim the dole next week.


Ireland was good. I had a chance to re-establish relationships with my brothers and Mum. Mum was very healthy. My brothers and I had not seen each other for very many years and we had drifted far apart. P had had a health scare and had re-established contact recently. I was keen to reciprocate the interest.

I could talk to DC. He never judged me. Just listened.

A plan began to form in my mind. It went something like this..

I had to keep earning money so I had have to go back to Abu Dhabi.

M and the teenagers would get a bigger house.

M would come and visit me in MZ within a few weeks in order to prevent me from going nuts. This plan also would also encourage the kids to be more independent. While she was away they would have to fend for themselves.

We would all live happily ever after.

But I had an attack of phlebitis on the penultimate day of my week in Ireland. I was hobbling around Hillsborough looking for drugs at a Chemist. I decided to call up an old friend from my school days in Belfast.

She had married a top Ulster Surgeon at the Royal Victoria Hospital and that was that. Just as well for her I think.

We blarneyed for a while on the phone.

“What about the legs D__-’, I said. I’m supposed to be flying tomorrow back to Abu Dhabi.

“You shouldn’t fly, D____” she said.

Maybe my wife is right. She says I don’t listen to anybody’s advice.

Meanwhile I visited Mum and the conversation was good. She gets really confused but she enjoys conversation . DC came with me on two occasions.

And where are you living now?

“In Abu Dhabi Mum”.

And you are P___?

No, I’m D____, Mum.

“And P___ is in Adelaide?”

“No, Mum, I___ live in Adelaide.”

‘Are you married yet?”

The brothers N___ went on a pilgrimage to Enniskillen. This was where my Dad’s sister-Aunt Marjorie used to live.

Marjorie was a stalwart Methodist and sacrificed her life to look after her mother. She never married and died at the age of 65.she wsthe happist Nixon I have known.

The brothers N____ went to her grave to remember the good old days at Easter when we used to visit Marjorie and Granma N____.

P___ was ill but he thought he was beating it and he was in pretty good form.

I was very pleased at the rapprochement. It was worth the trip for that alone.

I flew back to Abu Dhabi and stayed the night with my CEO. Next day I returned to MZ.

After one week I had come back to the United Arab Emirates refreshed, but it took me some time to get on top of things again.

Apparently M_____ had chucked a spasm on being asked to deputise in my absence for the week. I don’t blame him. He refused and Mr. E____ had had to do the job. I think this pissed him off. I don’t blame him. His head looked even more oblong than usual. Mr. E____ was a yuppy with a head that reminded me of a horse.

Within a week I had forgotten many things I had learned in the first two weeks. A couple of days were spent in Abu Dhabi doing management training courses.

Anyway, I resettled in as best I could and tried to get on with things. Meanwhile , things back in Adelaide seemed to be wobbly again. I got the impression M____ didn’t really want to come to the desert for a month to settle me down and have a holiday.

I could feel the panic rising and I became depressed.

At school, Mr. E____ started to put on the pressure. In my absence a ‘restructuring’ had been announced which meant my whole team were having to basically re-apply for their jobs. One or possibly two might not be offered a new contract.

I was asked by Mr.E____ to do their performance reviews and interview for the new positions.

I wasn’t enthusiastic because I didn’t know them. I told this to Mr. E____. Mr. E___ didn’t like my lack of enthusiasm.

I counted the days I had been at school-thirteen in all since my arrival. How could I do a performance review over six months –let alone interview my team for a new restructured job after such a short space of time?

It seemed like the restructuring idea was designed to buy time. All it did was create uncertainty and anxiety. Typical mad scheme coming out of HR.

HR was full of yuppies half my age who had never lived overseas. It was ridiculous.

If Mr. E____ and his buddies didn’t want to renew the contracts of a couple of my team why not simply tell them their contract was not going to be renewed.?

Making everyone reapply for new jobs with me carrying the can seemed like a neat trick of Mr’ E to get rid of M__ and N___ whom he disliked. But I knew who would cop the responsibility for it if I did the interviews!

I could feel the panic rising.

I liked my team. I thought they were doing a good job. R_____ was an asshole but if he was kicked into line now and again he was salvageable.

M___ was a pain but was very strong in some areas and potentially a very useful team member.

The others were excellent. Why were they being asked to reapply for their jobs? I didn’t see the problem.


The next day was another training day in Abu Dhabi. This time it was for Principals only.

I was travelling from MZ with one of the other Principals and on the outskirts of Abu Dhabi my phone rang.

“Hello D___, this is Y_________ here from MZ.

“PENTA have arrived!”

PENTA were the monitoring agency employed by the Government to assess our progress in the schools.

Yikes!

“They want to know where the files are:”

The files were the ringbinders M_____ had thrown at me on day one.

“Oh!... eh… well they are on the floor beside my desk” I said

“No problem D____” said Yahaya, “Everything is under control”

I was proud of Y____ . I was proud of the team.

But Mr. E____ had a different reaction..

I arrived in Abu Dhabi and detected a certain chill in the atmosphere around Mr. E____.

I could see him walking around the hallways with his phone stuck to his ear, speaking in an unnecessarily loud voice in that self-important way which annoyed me.

He was wearing his usual pea soup coloured suit. I didn’t like it.

Aussies are uncomfortable about receiving gifts .At least from me anyway. I’ve just tried to give my two lesbian friends some chocolates and almost had to force them down their throats.

Why are they like this? Is it just me?



Mr. E_____ was a star performer in the Principals training day program. He was busy and came over to me.

“PENTA have arrived. I think we’d better meet over lunch.”

I gulped.

What was Mr. E_____ worried about? He seemed tense. Things were ok in MZ. with PENTA.

We met at lunch and Mr. E_____ went through a series of documents which he felt PENTA would want to see and interrogate in the next twenty four hours.

Mostly it was CONMFK.

It was restating the bleeding obvious in CONMFK.

There were several documents and plans and I had of course only a rudimentary grasp of them at that stage

One of them had silly things like

“By the end of June 2009, (after 12 months of the project) 50 percent of all classes will be taught through English”

By Palestinians and Syrians!

Duuh!

Maybe by the end of 2050!

Mr E_____ was going through these documents and wanting to know where we ‘were’ in relation to the ‘Key performance indicators’.

I thought to myself. Well you should know –you were the Principal last year before I came?

But I didn’t say that.

He wanted to know what had I done since the last visit in November? The answer was very little because of exams and the short time I had been on site –thirteen days..

“Well what have you been doing for the past two months D____?,” he said

I could feel the panic rising…

Well I said, first of all I have been organizing a place to live for at least half of my time since my arrival…...

“Same for all of us” , he interrupted..

No, it wasn’t. He was put up in the Liwa hotel for six months.

‘Second I have only been on site for thirteen working days. How can you expect me to be familiar with these things in such a short time? My task has been to get to know ‘Jihad” my local Principal, my team of CFBT teachers, and my local teachers. I have not had nearly enough time to familiarize myself with all of this paperwork. ”

M______ had told me that he and Mr. E_______ had spent about six months doing nothing else except getting to know staff when they had first arrived in MZ arrived eighteen months ago.

The bare facts were:

Mr. E____________ was the Principal of my school before being promoted to Cluster Director. I was his successor.

He was worried about the school and PENTA

I was worried about him.

I wasn’t eating much of my lunch. He was eating like a horse.

I could feel the panic rise. I made a decision.

“Well. I think I should go back to MZ and prepare some stuff for PENTA tomorrow.” I lied.

“Yes , I think that is a good idea.” It also meant I would miss Mr. E______’s afternoon presentation in Abu Dhabi which suited me just fine.

I got a taxi and went back to MZ quicksharp. My mind was racing the whole time.

When I got back I visited M_______ in his pigeon loft across he road. I had never been in it before.

He was opening up. The PENTA visit had gone well. We went through some stuff.

I told him Mr; E-____ was up my ass about PENTA

“I feel like going to the airport”

“I’ll take you” –he joked-half seriously.

I left him and crossed back to my own pigeon loft and started to pack.

It was four O’clock. I had time to get a taxi to Abu Dhabi and fly to Australia that evening.

I called the CEO

“Look, it seems Mr. E______ is not satisfied with the way I’m doing things?”

“I think he just wants you to produce a weekly plan of what you are doing.”

The ‘M’ word had finally reared it’s ugly head. ‘Micromanagement’.

I started packing.

“Calm down” I said to myself.

I had three Amstel beers.

But the panic was still there.

I got on my orange bicycle and headed for the taxi rank in town.

“You go Abu Dhabi airport now how much?’

“400 dirham”

“OK.”

We drove to my house and I finished the packing I had started earlier in the afternoon.

I never saw my orange bicycle again.

It was left at the taxi stand.

My legs were hurting again with the phlebitis.

But I didn’t care. I was going home to Adelaide.

I was relieved .

I think.