I was walking past the hospital this morning, and there was a car parked outside the oncology department with the registration number S18 TRV. A large white screw had been positioned quite deliberately on the number plate at the bottom of the 8, so that it looked like an 'R'. Now, I'm not one to start a rumour, but has Sir Trevor McDonald got cancer? Or was it just Brooking opening another facility? Either way, I'm phoning Heat magazine.

On the subject of hospital care, I've yet to speak to the victim of yesterday's eye-popping operation, but apparently she made it through the night, and has been visited by Lisa and Amelie this morning. They're keeping an eye on her. Lisa prepared Amelie for the visit by telling her that Nanny would be wearing an eye patch. Which prompted Amelie to ask "Is she pretending to be a pirate?"

As for Lisa, she's still suffering from shock, as she only discovered yesterday that cataract surgery involves a scalpel. She thought it was all done with lasers. Frankly with that level of knowledge, she'd get on well with my patients. Having learnt the truth, she's now unable to discuss the operation for fear of fainting, and is requesting that I shoot her the moment her vision drops below 6/12. I've said I'll be happy to oblige.

In the meantime, she's still waiting to hear back from the Brighton Bus Company. I'm tempted to write and complain that they haven't responded within the three working days they promise, but they'd probably never reply. I can only assume they're scrutinising the CCTV footage and interviewing the driver. He's probably swearing at them as we speak.

In other news, I've found a way into the princess tent, and can finally check on the kittens...

I thought they were well hidden behind the TV, and safe from prying eyes under a layer of pink canvas, but someone's given them a toy mouse and two balls.