I just sent this message to Rhymester, my first move after RHP came back:
The old man was nearly a skeleton. Red tracks lined his left forearm where he injected his drugs. He trembled as he answered the detectives, his eyes snapping left and right: 'RHP was down for hours. I had to get well! I had no choice I tell you!' Great tears steamed down his face, onto his blood stained shirt.
Your turn:
I wrote a short poem about what happened to me on a previous such occasion and if we had better searching facilities I could have revisited it...
Fortunately, on this occasion, it was a good TV night... I had a couple of episodes of Speiberg's Taken to catch up on and in the UK it was Killer Corrie night! (I predict that Richard Hillman will be appearing as the baddy in a pantomime very soon).
Rhymester