Flipping heck. First thing this morning, I found myself chatting to a bloke having an apparent heart attack. We had a difficult and, frankly, dark conversation as he slumped to the pavement.
That kind of makes it seem I was watching on as if he was a telly programme, expecting A Big Brother narrator to chip in at any moment. Prodding his nose to see if the channel changed.
Actually, someone else was nattering with 999, and my sum contribution was gaining some pertinent medical detail to pass onto the paramedics, sheltering him with my umbrella because Manchester city centre was piddling down, and nipping to Spar to see if they stocked aspirin. They didn't.
He was way too young to kick the bucket, and I'm hopeful that Manchester Royal Infirmary will stitch his ticker up good and proper and send him on his way. Although the Tory conference is in town at the moment and they're probably burning down all the hospitals within a ten mile radius.
Weird day. Look after yourselves, blog chums. Don't make me have a difficult conversation with you on a rainy Manchester street.
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