Sentence The Fourhundredandninetyseventh

Theresa Somerville's day did not go as planned: after starting her shift in the rarefied atmosphere of the top-floor Children's Ward, where she played a cat in a top-hat, to much hilarity, she helped one of the temporary porters – a matriculated stident at Heriot Watt University who was working for the summer to finance a trip to Turin to see the shroud which some claim to be the Mandylion of Edessa – to load a laundry trolley with linen from beds vacated by patients discharged this morning, she then spent part of her break trying to reach Jamie or Stacy and still failing, though she did make contact with Ryan in Crawley (somehwere in Sussex) whose number was very close to Stacey's but no cigar, she was stung by a wasp! ouch – it was very sore and, at the time of writing, she is still getting sharp

pains up and down her arm, which several voddies have not anaesthetised; and she is due in The Chaplaincy Centre tomorrow morning – “oh, woe is me,” she thought, but then the distracting WPC Isa Urquhart popped her head round the door and offered a '45 Coffee' heavily laced with Laphraoigh: “mmmm, sounds lovely,” said Teri to her favourite cousin – “but don't tell the others I wrote that,” she begged!