Just as you're pottering along quite nicely, thankful that the stitched head, decapitated thumb and torn calf muscle are behind you, life throws you a curveball. Not so much a curveball actually, more a cannon ball fired from ten metres by a sniper renowned for his 100% accuracy record.
This was the call I got from daughter number two on Wednesday afternoon. I was on my way to see her after finding out that she'd spend several hours in A & E the night before. I was only going up to make sure that she was eating properly as it sounded like the treatment she' received at the hands of the NHS was more than adequate.
And then the mobile called in the car as I was halfway there. Poor daughter number two. She was sobbing her heart out, and between the tears and the bouts of vomiting, I got the gist of what she was saying.
'I'm on my way sweetie', I said, putting my foot to the floor. 'Mummy's coming! Hold on!'
Well, I'm not the fastest of drivers as the boys will confirm. But dropping down a couple of gears, I almost reached 52mph at least three times. Scooping her up, I took her down to the hospital where we waited for her to be admitted. Now daughter number two is single, and one of my favourite pastimes when I am with her is suggesting various chaps as positive suitors. The first doctor to give her the medical once over was an absolute looker, and I was really disappointed for her, as it's hard to see the best side of someone when they are chucking up into a cardboard hat.
Finally getting onto the ward, we were surrounded by various other poor souls, and I decided that I would crash at daughter number two's flat for the night. Falling into her bed on Wednesday night, I realised that this was the bed which she had been poorly in, and it wasn't that special. Tomorrow I would look for another set of bedlinen so that when she came home, she would have a lovely clean bed.
Little did I know...