·       Watery, half cooked porridge, warm OJ, margarine on my roll.  Yes, right.  I'm back in hospital.

·       A doctor who'd be fair game if I were a few decades younger, ditto the bloke in the next bed.

·       A gown that leaves absolutely bugger all to the imagination as I wobble to the loo and totter back again.

·       A team of nurses dedicated to my well-being, but with a distressing tendency to drop by at all hours to run a battery of checks, using machines far removed from the familiar ones used by my humble GP.

·       Conversation in the dawn: 

Alice, here's your tablet.

Alice, come on and take your tablet.

Alice, you need to take your tablet.

Who are you?  You can bugger off.  I'm not taking anything from you lot.  Go away.  You're trying to poison me.  Go away.

·       Who the fuck is Alice anyway?

·       Slept surprisingly well in a hard narrow bed with the side rails up so I don't roll out of bed during a dizzy spell.  Like a baby in a cot.  Where's my bottle? 

·       Said bed in a corridor in Emergency along with two others, as all the regular spots are full.  The joint is jumping.

·       Insulin injection halfway through breakfast instead of half an hour before as recommended.

·       Teams of doctors clustered around one patient's bed, but not one available to come and tell me I can go home.

·       My doctor eventually shows up and tells me the good news, a middle ear infection, known as Labyrinthitis.  I tell him it sounds a bit David Bowie-ish, and he laughs.  He's heard it before.  The infection is very good news compared to the alternative which they hadn't mentioned before, a suspected mini stroke.  So that's why I got through triage at warp speed!

·       Take these tablets for two or three days, and you'll be fine.  Now bugger off and let some other malingerer have your bed.

·       What about this bung in my elbow.  Do I take it out at home or leave it here? 

·       Oops!  Sorry!