My Dad is seldom happier than when he's with his children, and although he's never admitted it in so many words it's long been perfectly obvious that of his three children his favorite is his daughter. So he was very happy as we sat there in the garden, chatting, having a glass of wine, my sister deadheading the flowers. He was very happy indeed, right up to the point where he suddenly fell over backwards, flat on his back, his head landing only inches from the 4X4 supporting the fence on one side, and the large rock which marks the final resting place of Spike the Cat on the other.

The X-rays this morning showed that he hadn't broken any bones. The CAT scan of his brain showed that he does, in fact, have a brain, which should lay that particular rumour to rest.

It also showed an abnormality on his right frontal lobe: apparently he had either suffered a stroke or he has a brain tumour.

This is, well, this is very bad.