Recuperating with Uncle Ben

I slept all day yesterday, rising only to eat and to empty my bladder. My saintly benefactor has attended to me for the last two days, bringing me sumptuous meals that gradually return the strength to my weary frame. He sings me glorious hymns in a low, reverberating tone, and tells me tales of the plantation days in sweet Mississippi, where he worked gladly and was only rarely scourged. His fragrant breath smells of Christmas and antique clocks. He sweats molasses and treacle from his palms and allows me to sup from this heady admixture.

After lunch today he performed a selection of magic tricks to amuse me and rouse me from depression - he can produce ivory dice from his wrists at will, and can revolve his eyes at enormous speed.

As I write this, he is preparing a teriyaki rice dish for my tea, after which he has promised to show me a map of the spirit realm, and then we will settle down to watch The Bill.

I am happy beyond words and hope nothing should soil this current arrangement.