Lying in bed, looking around his bedroom, Ianto felt as if he was living in a florist’s. Why was it that people always sent flowers as a Get Well Soon message?
It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, they were lovely, but in the two weeks he’d been laid up, covered in green spots because of an alien virus, so many people had sent them that he’d run out of vases. The last three bunches had to be crammed in a bucket.
He vowed that the next person who brought flowers was going to get them rammed up their arse!