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itsbruce
Kernowdreamer
It was nearly a lot worse. I'd met a woman a few weeks before and was staying ar her place. She was with me at the bike shop when I set off on the test ride. The Serotta was put in the ambulance. As I had no ID (left my wallet at the bike shop) someone at the hospital inspected the bike, found the shop's sticker on it, and called them. So by the time I woke up the bike was back at the shop and the woman was at my bedside. She'd pretended to be my wife so she could get into my room. The brain surgeons were checking me every 90 minutes, day and night, to see if the bleeding on my brain had got any worse. If it had, they would have operated. When I woke up, one of them started questioning me, to see how my brain was doing. And his first question was 'who is this woman'? I couldn't remember - we hadn't known each other that long, she had a really unusual Iranian name, and we hadn't ever needed to use each other's names much anyway. Then it came to me - Mashhad. Phew.