So, it came to pass, Scarlett and hubby arrive at the hospital on Monday afternoon to collect her Dad. He leaves the hospital with nothing but two bags of laundry and a stonking cold, obviously contracted on the ward.

Half way down the corridor a lone voice from amongst the mulitude of staff hanging around calls after usbr />
'Have you got the letters?'

'What letters?' I reply. Searching through the bags reveals nothing but pyjamas, socks, vests, toiletries and someone else's boxer shorts yet again.

A scuffle through paperwork behind the nurse's station and two letters are handed over to me. I ask what they are. I'm told first is a new list of Dad's medication.

'Where's this medication then?' I ask. 'It's not in his bags.' Nurse's heads turn to look at each other, shoulders are shrugged and one goes off on a hunt to find the mislaid items.

I look at the second letter. It's addressed to 'The District Nurse.' Now, it's my turn to look confused.

'Oh,' explains another nurse. 'The district nurse from your Dad's doctor's surgery will be dropping in to see him at home. Hasn't anyone contacted you about it?'

No need to tell you the answer to that one. 'What for?' I ask.

'It's in the letter.' replies the nurse.

Well, have you any idea when?' I continue. 'It's no good anyone calling if I'm not there. He's rather deaf and won't know what's going on if strangers call.

The nurse scuffles through more folders on the desk.

'Oh, here it is,' she smiles. 'Erm...this afternoon.'

'Well, that's very useful seeing as it's afternoon already.'

We wheel Dad, belongings, newly found medication and letters into the lift, take him out to the car and finally manage to strap him in.

Once we arrive at his house, he shuffles in with his stick, draws the curtains, puts the fire on and plonks down to watch the television. The electrician has almost every carpet in the house up, furniture moved into every available crevice and continues to work amongst the flying plaster to secure a light pull switch over Dad's new bed. I go upstairs to unpack his belongings, sort out laundry and new bedding, then the doorbell rings.

I thump down the stairs in a lather and discover the District Nurse.

'Is your Dad in?' she asks.

'Only just,' I reply. 'He's just come out of hospital.'

'Oh, has he been in hospital? I just got a message from the receptionist asking me to call. Do you know what it's about?'

I hand her the letter. It's revealed in writing Dad has a sore bottom. Most serious in the great scheme of things, but she feels an examination is appropriate. I disappear rather quickly and leave the nurse to it. After a few minutes she comes to tell me that it's only a little dry skin, but as the hospital haven't sent any cream and as she hasn't got any with her, there's not much can be done. That was a very useful exercise then.

She leaves, finally the electrics are sorted and we're left to clear up and settle Dad in. We talk him through new arrangements at home, ensure he's comfortable and finally manage to escape to our own house, too exhausted to contemplate doing any necessary work there.

I can only live in hope things will settle down for a while now, but I won't hold my breath. Of course, the God of Perfect Timing has to make sure all this happens when my sister is away on a Mediterranean cruise and there's five family birthdays in the space of three weeks. Better go, I have to put the candles on Angel's cake. Can you believe our little poppet is three today?