Mr Bent came back from hospital yesterday and I went over to take care of him a little. He was very pleased I had put some of his books back and created some room for him to walk, sit, and sleep. He wasn’t in a wheelchair or anything, so the path that I had made was wide enough. It was as if the books were saying,’ Hello, and welcome back,’ to him they way I arranged them.
Although I am not as good as Mr Bent with these things, I made him some tea with biscuits and sandwiches (okay, I didn’t make the biscuits myself). The tea tastes different when he makes it. There must be some kind of magic he uses. As you know, there is absolutely no magic in me. Which reminds me, I have got some stuff on sale. I should really put it up on eBay. If you happen to know anybody who is interested in a wand or a broom or anything, let me know. I can’t promise they will work, but who knows. They might look cooler on someone else. I didn’t really have ‘swag’ with a broom under my butt. Who needs ‘swag’ anyways!? In 20 years from now, kids will find the word old-fashioned and stupid. Mr Bent doesn’t even know what ‘swag’ is.
The other day, as we were leaving the hospital Mr Bent whispered something about ghosts in St Bart’s. Yesterday he told me about one of them. You might want to crawl up to your teddy bear or maybe pull your blanket a bit higher up, because it freaked me out. It might also be nice to read it while drinking a hot cup of chocolate with cream on it. I love hot chocolate with cream in winter. Mr Bent calls this story ‘The Coffin Lift’. Remember to read this in one of those deep, dark voices,
‘Before I start telling anything about the haunted lift in St Bart’s, let me start by saying something about the building itself, for it is a very special building. King Henry I – early 12th century – had a jester whose name was Rahere. After the king’s only son had drowned at sea near Calais, Rahere became a monk and went to Rome. Of course, in those days, jabs were not common practise and thus Rahere became seriously ill. He was struck by malaria and it was weakening him more and more. When he felt his end was nigh he vowed that, should he miraculously recover, he’d erect a hospital for the poor.
,On his way back to England, he had a vision or a dream, if you will, in which St Bartholomew told him to not only erect a hospital, but also a church in London. Rahere did so. He built a church and a hospital and when he died somewhere 1145, he was buried in his own church. There’s a good ghost story about that church, too, but we’re not going to go into that now. Let’s save that for later, shall we?’
I will have to leave you with this. As school starts tomorrow, I have homework to do and a dog to walk. The latter has nothing to do with school whatsoever. This is where we say goodbye for now. If I have time to spare tonight, I will post the rest of the story. Otherwise … see me tomorrow.
PS. I took the picture of the hospital. I took the camera with me when we went to see Mr Bent.