Me: Terrified? (he doesn't look particularly terrified to me, he's searching for something in the fridge. Perhaps checking the cold meats to see if anyone has deigned to use an incorrect knife on them in an incorrect fashion?).
Father: Yes. TERRIFIED.
Me: Right. And, erm, why it that?
Father: I have pains, PAINS, all down my side! All in my arm. I can barely move it (said whilst hoiking a large platter of cold sausages out of the fridge).
Me: Oh. Dear.
Father: I am in AGONY. Can barely walk. Just like the pains I had before - when I almost died.
(This is actually, for once, not an exaggeration. Shortly before my wedding he thought he'd pulled a muscle in his side ripping up trees with his bare hands/crushing cans of Strongbow between his little fingers/attempting to strangle my brother for using the wrong knife to spread chutney. It turned out he actually had a Deep Vein Thrombosis which had migrated into his lungs. Gulp).
Father: IT IS TERRIFYING.
Me: Yes. Right. So you are seeing the Doctor when?
Father: The DOCTOR? No, I'm not seeing the bloody doctor.
Me: Well, may I suggest if you are terrified and in agony and have a history of potential fatal blood clots, it might be a good idea?
Father: No, no. Its probably how I've slept.
Me: Well what are you going to do about it then?
Father: Make a bloody sausage sandwich.
Me: (to myself) Yeah, obviously.....that well known wonder of modern medicine.
However, he did actually appear much improved after the sausage sandwich so I shall try not dwell on my concerns too much.