No, I haven't sung it to the Sage. I'm being very kind and sweet. But it's running through my head.
He was ages in the dentist. I offered to drive him in, in case he didn't feel too good when he came out, and yesterday he poo-pooed the idea, but changed his mind this morning. He told me 45 minutes, I thought that was pushing it but was back within the hour, with a boot full of Tesco booze (I know, I know, not such a woman of principle as I like to think) and still had to wait more than half an hour for him. I stayed in the car, because it's very much a bedsit area of Norwich and I was a bit worried that the car should not be broken in to, but as time went by, I got more and more anxious that he was having a rotten time.
He managed a plateful of scrambled eggs for lunch, very bravely. I've assured him that he needs plenty of protein to keep up his strength.
Would you care to sing along with me? Silently, of course