Another very old picture – this time of Dot, which must have been taken in late 1971 or early 1972, because she was clearly learning to drive (see the L-plate on our Austin 1100, which I had bought from a second-hand car dealer on the North Circular: our second car). Could have been taken in Wales, in which case I suspect it was on top of the Berwyn Mountain, scene of a well-known UFO sighting featured recently on television, with Dot’s cousin Adrian an impressive interviewee. Or it could have been somewhere else.

Back to the present, and an extraordinary week, as heat gave way to rain. Nothing extraordinary about that, but if you remember I had a urine infection. I had been given tablets for this at Wells, but by Thursday I had reached a stage where my flow had dried up completely. This was bad psychologically (I was instinctively terrified) and physically (it became more and more painful). I tried the urology nurses and the surgery, but couldn’t get through, so we went to the hospital, where coincidentally I had an appointment at the out-patient clinic to get the result of my blood test – to see if my prostate operation was successful.

Despite the urology nurse (who had picked up my message) trying to get me in quickly, the doctor was still about 15 minutes late, and by then I had lost all interest in the blood test. He examined me, made some phone calls and got me into the Emergency Assessment Unit. I just about managed to ask him about my blood test as I left the room, and it was CLEAR – the operation was SUCCESSFUL! But I was in agony.

Dot and I walked to the EAU, and a doctor tried to insert a catheter – unsuccessfully. There was some kind of blockage. Enter my personal saviour – Wayne, a nursing auxiliary. He gave me a mixture of gas and air (usually used for births), which was the only thing that gave me any relief during the next few hours, during which I was transferred to a bed in the EAU ward. They tried morphine and various other tablets, but only the gas worked – on and off. I can’t ever remember being in such distress.

There was talk about an operation the next day, which didn’t do anything for my mental state, but eventually, after some hard praying by Dot, I got an emergency slot at 8pm (the original appointment was at 2.25pm). Never had losing consciousness come as such a relief. I was told later that as soon as this happened the flow was released, and that they went on to stretch my urethra. It certainly feels as if it has been stretched, and my new catheter is less comfortable than the old one. I am due to return to hospital early next week to have it removed – and possibly to learn how to insert one myself if necessary. Don’t like the sound of it much.

I was in hospital overnight, of course, but discharged early the next day – without speaking to a doctor or being told officially what had happened during the operation. But that’s nothing new. I’ve been feeling very fragile since, but went out for a short walk yesterday afternoon.

I’ve spoken to Big Blue Sky and had hoped to take some poetry books out to them on Friday, but of course that had to be postponed. Also postponed is Andrew’s visit to Norwich next week, which is sad as it’s his 60th birthday on Wednesday. I’ve let The Langleys know, but haven’t told him yet, because he’s out a lot. I’m trying again tonight. It will be nice when things get back to normal, if they ever do.