First of all, we must welcome Benjamin Robert Lloyd Ellis, who arrived here on July 13th at 22:02. Congratulations to Jane, David and big brother Nathaniel!

All seemed pretty good yesterday. Von had made an interesting shopping list for goodies for my birthday today. Milo was subdued and a little off colour, but seemed relatively OK. Von ran downstairs to let the electricity man in to read the meter, spun round at the bottom of the stairs and collapsed in agony. The loud crack from her foot did not herald good news. I was piling ice onto her ankle when my sister Jo rang. “Get her to an X-ray at once,” ordered Jo. She’s a physio and she knows these things.

We drove to the Whittington and she was admitted into A&E, together with a felon handcuffed to a police officer and a madman staring at his tattoos and constantly shouting at himself. It’s a gritty city.

I’d gone home to await her call. Four hours later, by 7pm, I was getting anxious. I checked my phone — and found I’d switched it off in the morning to stop it downloading another 200 emails, and forgotten to turn it on again. And I’d switched the office phones over to Moneypenny, our secretarial service. Von had been calling me since 5:15, when she was let out. I got her voicemail message and rang her immediately, but she was already in the taxi coming home. She was angry and upset but she didn’t want to spoil my birthday.

Plaster up to the knee (left leg) and two crutches. She was not a happy bunny. I prepared a fish soup following instructions shouted through the kitchen hatch. It was delicious.

We wrapped the plaster in clingfilm so she could turn over in bed more easily, and to stop it messing the sheets as it’s a hard/soft plaster (because she has a bruise like a balloon) and it was still slightly damp.

I got up to make tea in the morning and the hall floor was awash with Milo’s vomit. He looked terrible, my effervescent pup who usually does somersaults at the sight of food. A Bonio held no interest for him. He would not eat. Off to the vet.

The vet has just called. Milo had an X-ray, and a blockage was found in his intestine. General anaesthetic, on to the slab, cut him open and inside the intestine was a large stone, too big to be passed. Stone removed, dog sewn back up, coming round from anaesthetic, all seems OK, job done. We get him back on Monday. I shudder to think of what the bill will be, although we do have some limited form of pet insurance.

Whereas I dropped Von off at the hospital at 3:00 and if I’d had my phone on (doh!) I could have picked her up at 5:15, fully X-rayed, diagnosed, painkilled, plastered, given a pair of new crutches and a pile of drugs. All paid for by the NHS. Quick, efficient and polite. Don’t knock it too much. The alternative is not worth considering.

So here we are. Von lying on a sofa with plastered foot in the air, dog lying on marble slab in alien vet office, and me celebrating my birthday with an Apple  Inc product. Happy Birthday To Me!

Milo and Von in fitter days on Harlech Beach:

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