Liam is mended enough to return to work (at a doctor's surgery, ironically). Broken ribs are a nasty business and it'll be months before he's fully repaired. In the meantime, he's popping the pills to get him through the day (and particularly the night). It reminds me that, during our midriff years, we need to do what we can to keep ourselves match fit for the future. No one wants poor health to spoil their twilight years. At my annual MOT last year, the quack told me to watch my glucose levels or I'd be on the road to diabetes town. This stark warning spurred me on to move more and eat (and drink) less. Twelve months on, I've dropped over a stone and my glucose levels are almost back to within normal range. So it's a little less sugar and spice and everything nice - except for Christmas, of course, when all bets are off.
