The adventure of the midnight feast.

Lunchtime sees and urgent request to visit an old friend, put in by the District Nurses. When Nurse Gladys visited him this morning his blood sugar was through the roof. Not good. Especially since he's just out of St Elsewhere's after an op for diabetic complications. So I don my deer-stalker and round I zip, expecting the worst. The last time we did this I ended up having to admit him to the hospital, culminating in his surgery, a three month stay on the ward and a radical overhaul of his treatment.

Today couln't be more different. He's fine. We repair from the dining hall to his new flat in the poshest warden controlled accommodation in Ambridge (another consequence of his recent admission was the move here) for a private chat. He hasn't felt so well in ages, no symptoms to suggest any acute illness that would account for his sudden surge in blood sugar. His appetite is fine. His chest quite clear. No evidence of urinary infection, Swine Flu or other attendant lurghi whatsoever.

"So why," I gently probe, "the high sugar this morning?"

There's a pause. A pregnant pause, where the pregnancy is headed for the delivery of triplets.

"Well," he owns, finally,

"You see,

It's like this....



Last night I had a craving for the biggest bag of chips I could get. Lovely they were, all smothered in salt and vinegar. Just the job!"

Then he grins.

I nag him half heartedly about watching what he eats and then we chat about the cricket for a while.

He's going to try to be good again now, and Nurse Gladys will watch his sugars for me.

So. Another mystery solved, and yes, it appears the answer was alimentary. Now, where's my Meerschaum?