Ian Whitwham was reading to his granddaughter when he lost the ability to speak. A stroke had laid him low
I’m playing with the grandchild, Sylvie. It’s early in the morning. I’m a bit sleepy, a bit slow. She brings me her polar bear, Sidney.
She calls it “Shiissh”. I call it “Shidney”. She’s 17 months. She’s doing well. I’m 71. I’m doing badly. I have another go. “Hello, Shidney!” I make myself a strong coffee. I can’t get up off the sofa.
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