I never called 999 before. Even with the baby boy imploring me with fierce, frightened eyes to DO SOMETHING, there was still that reluctance, is it really necessary? Are we supposed to call the CamiDoc, the out-of-hours GP service? But actually no, he can't breathe.
Which service? Ambulance.
Genial Irishman showed up, couldn't've been more than three minutes, seemed a fair bit longer naturally. Oh yes, that'll be the croup. He glanced at the beer I'd just opened.
"I've just opened that."
Croup's a bastard. Or rather, it's a harmless nuisance of a virus, relative to the terror generated by its onset. The bastard. Buzz? he's absolutely fine now, if a bit snotty.
Radio play got recorded, in other news. The cast laughed and corpsed even, so that was a relief, it seems to work.
A Christmas Carol lost a cast member to a torn ankle. Dashed bad luck for the fella. Erica's drafting in an actor from the Our Friends In The North company, finished the first leg of its run on Saturday night, in Sheffield I think. It's back for a tour in the spring, coming to Guildford so I'll be taking B over there to see it.
Everton have won their last four games - first time that's happened in 17 years, apparently. We seem to be getting quite good at beating the teams we're supposed to beat - Larissa, Derby County, Luton Town, Birmingham City. Though the Brum were unlucky.