03/10/25 Released.

The taxi driver had a high opinion of the kantonsspital. "Hospital! Good!" He enthused, and proceded to make destructive noises with his face whilst gesturing the snapping of a stick. Which was problematic as driving generally works better when the driver has their hands on the wheel, and I'm not sure whether breaking things is usually part of the hospital remit.

The slightly unnerving taxi driver was taking us home from hospital, Roger having received his release papers that morning. I had gotten up bright and early, packed a flask of coffee, and bought pistachio croissants for brunch at the water front. Friday morning was busy: flocks of tourists trailed behind tour leaders between the covered bridges, and preparations for the Autumn Fair were in full swing.  The mountains stood out in crisp relief, stencilled against a milky sky.

Mt Pilatus, Lucerne's 'local' mountain and but a baby at a shade over 2000m in height.

No sooner had I settled in to take photos and swig my coffee than Roger rang. "I'm free! Come and get me."

Huh. There went my leisurely brunch by the lake.

The bus up to Kantonsspital took a circuitous route through the suburbs before depositing several of us at the front revolving door of the Kantonsspital, where we all acted like slightly silly little sheep for the way too many minutes it took to figure out that the revolving door wasn't working and we had to follow signs through the side door.  At least I had the excuse of not reading German.

Roger, bless his deprived soul, was happily eating his very nice lunch while he gazed at snow capped mountains and discussed the merits of banking in Switzerland with his room mate. I definitely lowered the tone of the room, munching on my now-squashed croissants as I swigged my now-cold coffee and we all waited for the doctor to wave his magic discharge wand.

Ready to roll, waiting for the nod.  And the paperwork.

Wand waved, we turned up at the Pharmacy only to find that they had all gone to lunch and business would resume a good 40 minutes from now. "I can't stand for that long!" Roger clutched Steve for support. "You'll have to come back and get the drugs."

That was where the taxi driver came in.

Leaving Roger all tucked up in his new digs with Steve for company I walked back to the hospital. Yes, I could have got the bus but by now I knew shortcuts so walking was quicker. Then I walked back again which was quite nice as I really didn't have to rush so I could take little detours to visit my favourite towers.

Not a tower.  And a cat who refused to acknowledge my existence thereby proving that Swiss cats are just like cats the world over.

The rest of the day was taken up with the life tasks that don't go away even if you're on holiday dramas: laundry (I paid for it this time too); cooking creative dinner with ingredients from the 50% off shelves in Coop; organising my growing collection of medical receipts; and taking Roger and Steve for gentle walks about the neighbourhood.

All the palavar to bring drugs into the country and what does he do?  Collects more while he's here.

They make a cute couple, don't they?.

We even had a busker playing the piano accordion below our window as we ate dinner. He wasn't particularly enthusiastic or skilled as a player and we didn't miss him when he went. Our lullaby was the sounds of the street (foot traffic only, old town is a car free zone) and the distant town bells counting out the hours.

Door with bonus bicycle.