My sister has appendicitis. Maybe. She is in some hospital. I put her favourite pjs in a bag, along with a book with 'nuddy pants' as part of the title. Boasting something like that in glaring pinkness on the cover, it had better be a good (hospital) read. I wonder if, somewhere out there, there is a list of top 100 hospital books. Probably. I remember it to be very funny, anyway, something about sparrows with umbrellas falling of twigs.

My mother is keeping bedside vigil. It's strange her not being here. She is always the one who switches the lights on just right. Whilst listening to Cat Stevens, to whom I have become strangely and inexpicably attached. My father bangs at the overhead light switch with half-shut eyes, and yes, there may be light, but it's glaring and harsh and meant only for reading the paper or doing homework involving microscopic print. I often feel like shouting, "Look Daddy, corner lights! Lights in the corner! You may have to rattle the plug around a little because that one is slightly faulty, and that one lost it's pull-string light switch a few years ago, but they both work...CORNER LIGHTS, DADDY!"

Maybe men don't understand the need for corner lights. Maybe as some people are colour-blind and don't recognise red from green at the traffic lights, men don't recognise different shades of light. Harsh ugly light versus soft, cuddly light. May I use this space right here to inform all men that WOMEN NEED CORNER LIGHTS?

I may arise from my bed of perpetual slumbers earlier than I should have to tomorrow morning. Some has to switch on the corner lights and pull the budgie-cloth from Dodo's cage. Perhaps conjure up a nutritional lunch situation for my brother involving brown foods and seeds and strictly nothing with an iota of either sugar or salt lurking dangerously and deceptively beneath the surface of food.

As that horrible horrible saying goes, (and I hold my breath for fear of retching whilst typing this) "Shall I be mother?"

Yuk.