In July 1949 aged three, mum and I took the bus to the Cottage Hospital, Eltham, South London, to have my tonsils removed. I had a small suitcase which contained the little blue and white striped flannel pyjamas as I mentioned my recent posting, a pair of plaid bobble slippers and my Teddy which wasn’t really a Teddy but a stuffed koala made from real koala fur with one glass eye. The koala would be forbidden today, and that is all I remember apart from endless meals of scrambled powdered egg, jelly and ice cream.

And that was my last hospital visit until this morning. Today, I shall be toddling off to another hospital with considerably more baggage as I’m off for a two week stay and my bag will contain a couple of books, iPhone and charger. iBook and charger and assorted CD’s. No longer possessing pyjamas, I shall take a collection of boxers and t-shirts. I do not have a dressing gown but I don’t care, as I have no intention of socializing in the cafeteria. Tracksuit pants will do for trips to the tuck shop.

This is the reason why my missives for the next few weeks may probably be confused and sporadic. I have tentatively put a few stories on automatic publishing but frankly my heart isn’t in it and I don’t want to disappoint my faithful readers with any padding about worming the cat or planting window boxes.

The good news is that my excess weight is literally dropping off although the diet is rather draconian and not recommended for those who just want to lose an inch or two off their bum.

Dear pals. I’ll tell you more when I am compos mentis and back to reality – or at least my version of reality - and after the men in green coats and bonnets have had a poke around in my giblets.