All the best to Nick in 2016.
“What’s the Egyptian word for Hare?” Not the usual opener to a telephone conversation, I grant you, but less of a surprise than you might think. Nick is finally writing his book. We had been talking about it earlier over coffee before he got up. I had congratulated him on the thirty thousand words he has written over the past few weeks. “Thirty seven thousand,” he corrected. My son never has been one to do things by halves and he book is progressing at an astonishing rate.
I haven’t read it yet… I’m not allowed. I have, however, read other things he has written and know it will be an interesting, and probably inspirational, read. It can’t be otherwise really, given the odds against him being able to write it at all.
The screwdriver that left him brain injured passed through those centres occupied with personality, language processing, memory and…
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