During a messenger conversation with Gill Woodcock, after wishing her a happy birthday, I discovered that she was suffering from concussion; apparently a slammed boot was involved. Her recovery involved cold quiet dark rooms. I mentioned that it was a good thing that the small gift I was sending belatedly wasn’t a flaming drum kit. Nor for that matter steaming bongos.
I sent her the small birthday present. Her reply was “Those were the days. Still Barmy.”
