I had a terrible experience last night. I'd just driven back from Lewes Hospital in my Mum's clapped-out old crate of a car (the one she's been forced to use since she sold me her decent one) because my own car was being MOT'd for the first time. Coaxing a rattling, clanking old rustbucket of a Skoda over the hills of Woodingdean in the pouring rain, thick fog and pitch blackness was bad enough, especially as I nearly crashed at every corner when I forgot I didn't have power-steering, but having finally come to rest in a parking space outside my flat, I emerged from the heap of decrepit useless junk, and was standing in the road, locking the thing (as if anyone would try to steal it) when a passing car honked its horn at me.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Quite frankly, when you've spent all afternoon screening weirdos in wheelchairs, and then driven a car which is sicker than all of them, your nerves are in no fit state to cope with irresponsible road hogs honking their horns from a distance of three feet. But still, whilst clutching my chest and trying to fend off a major heart attack, I was at least able to console myself with the knowledge that A & E was no more than a five minute crawl away.

As the culprits drove off down the road, they even had the nerve to gesticulate to me out of their car window. I felt like making a few hand gestures of my own, I can tell you.

Anyway, it's difficult to say who would carry out such a heinous act of wanton road rage, but I'd guess it's the kind of bracelet-obsessed individual who loves leopard print, country music and gospel singing, and spends his spare time hanging out with The Cheeky Girls.


Although I doubt such a person exists.

Anyway, the good news is that I survived, and managed to stagger indoors safely. Where I found a bill for £457 for my car's service and MOT. At which point I finally fainted.

But it's all good practice for tomorrow. I'm sitting in on a morning of eye surgery at the Sussex Eye Hospital. I have to be at the operating theatre at 8:15am to change into my scrubs and use the alcohol hand gel. Possibly in front of a poster of Amelie. The surgery starts at eight-thirty. And by 8:45 I should be coming round on a stretcher.