TWENTY-EIGHT
The ambulance arrived at the Waterloo taxi rank, Sister Winifrede having already been whisked away to Westminster Abbey. The paramedics set up drips and were carrying out CPR, (clever para-prancing round), it did not seem to be working, but still they danced as Pimple was lifted into the ambulance and it departed, nee-naaing, blue lights flashing.
‘Where you taking him, mate?’ Jack asked of the paramedic as the man packed up his dancing pumps and folded away a lovely flowing skirt that had coordinated beautifully with green fatigues, and put them in the saddle bags of his bike.
‘St Thomas’ Hospital.’ the medic replied. ‘It’s the closest.’
‘Right,’ Jack said and, turned to Mandy who was trying, unsuccessfully, to soothe the sobbing Cecelia. ‘We can pick him up later, or I c
