By Lindsay Brown (based on Amy’s words)

I was in terrible pain. I suppose I’ve always been rather clumsy, but what I consider to be an endearing quirk has never landed me in hospital before. What was terribly embarrassing about the whole affair is that the mantle was so dusty, and there I was sitting on a hospital bed being examined by the doctor, with a hair-do full of dust! He advised rest, which worried me enough to call my mother. After all, when I fell down the stairs when I was 6 and trying to untie a balloon from the banister, she was frantically trying to keep me awake to make sure I didn’t die! Anyway, she told me to stop getting so over-excited, as it probably nothing more than a headache, perhaps a little bump. Admittedly, aside from a little drowsiness, it didn’t amount to much more. When I returned home, my flatmate had made a pot of tea and served me a lovely cup with a slice of marble cake. I appreciated the touch of irony. Somehow irrelevant baked goods wouldn’t have the same sincere get well sentiment.