I'd developed quite a lump on my left hand, where the needle had been inserted. I asked the nurse if this was normal, and she giggled and said "I no know...maybe hand fall off?" I laughed, albeit a little nervously.
Doc's back to talk through my X-rays, and thankfully there is good news. "England win against Germany last night...2 goals to 1." "Now that IS good news, Doctor. Now, about my ribs...?" The gist of it is, I can leave in the morning. And no diving for 6 weeks. Fuck. I don't know which is worse, not diving...or lugging all my gear around for 6 weeks for absolutely no reason at all. Probably an unhealthy mix of the pair. Ah well...I no die, after all.
DAN's paying for all my care. So I'm unperturbed to be asked to sign a blank form when they dish out my aftercare medicine. "No morphine?" "You silly!" "These will do, I suppose" And I'm out of there, after saying Toodlepip to the nurses. Despite the haphazard care, they've been good to me. It's certainly been an experience. Pad Thai as soon as I hit Ko Tao, that's for sure.
The boat ride was certainly another experience. I don't suffer from seasickness, but plenty of others do. Which makes it all the more fun, no? A little schadenfreude never hurt anyone, after all? Well, apart from those who's expense you're having a chuckle at. This was like Alton Towers on sea. I was on the top deck, I prefer the open air. If I looked at the people at the back of the boat, the sides would pitch up on the rolling waves until I could see no ocean behind them...only to plummet into a trough and I could see water the height of four men behind pale green faces. The horizon shifted giddily in relation to the stern of the catamaran, passengers staggered to get down the stairs without being tossed into the sea. Plastic bags filled with the partially-dissolved remains of lunch. Why transparent bags, incidentally? It's enough to turn your stomach.
The highlight wasn't long in coming up. Literally. There were three monks in saffron robes came rolling out of the VIP room, looking fairly unwell. One grabbed a bag from a steward, and barley managed to throw up in it. One of his colleagues staggered about, people reaching out to help but not quite touching...you're not supposed to touch them. Ironic. Third Monk decides to barf into a bag, doesn't quite get it right, and splatters the floor and the socks and sandals of a middle-aged couple at the top of the stairs. I could hardly contain myself, biting my lip. Especially as they were German, and didn't look too pleased at all with Barf Simpson's offering. Jolly good show, old chap.