A little pain in my heart

Just won’t let me be

Wake up restless nights

Lord and I can’t even sleep.

Mmm, mmm yeah

Stop this little pain in my heart

Pain in my heart, Otis Redding

(covering the Rolling Stones)

It’s a little less romantic than I remember, sitting in bed, listening to Otis Redding tonight. But that’s because I do have a pain in my heart but it is less the pang of love than it is the sharp shooting sensation in the right side of my chest.

It woke me up about 3 am this morning. I couldn’t get back to sleep and so rang NHS Direct, our health service’s 24 hour hot line, which, I’m told, is not the number to chat to naughty nurses. I described my symptoms with the help of our soul singing friend.

“Mmm, mmm yeah,” I said. “Stop this little pain in my heart.”

Unfortunately, the nurse could not. Nor could she appreciate the song, or the inappropriate jokes I made about her naughtiness. Perhaps the pain is comeuppance for mine.

I have fallen spectacularly off my detox tonight, and indulged in more than a little gluehwein at a German Christmas market. But hey, it’s Christmas. And it’s German. And since I don’t eat bratwurst I had little choice but the hot, spicy goodness of mulled wine. And now I’m left with the sharp, shooting pain of what might be a heart attack.

And so I leave you readers, perhaps for the last time, in the hope that a problem shared is indeed a problem halved (or, in the case of my readership divided by about 20); and that you might help me stop this little pain in my heart, before it stops me.

THE END.

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