Yesterday, a coup de foudre. While negotiating bedpans and leaking bandages. In the morning, I visited my nonagenarian friend. The one who had the stroke. She keeps up the whisky and cigars but, alas, has given up work. Her home is filled with hoists and ramps and the paraphernalia of deterioration. The beaming Philippina who looks after her is noticeably rough in her handling. "I prefer men," sighed the hostess. "They're so much more gentle." I put out the Scrabble. The game never started... Returning home, I checked on the progress of my eBay dealings. Then set off for the Royal Free. Where my 87-year-old neighbour was seeping into his bedlinen. From the groin. He yanked up his nightie, exposing a suppurating wound. "It took four hours, and it was hell." The Muslim man in the next bed prays in the middle of the night. "There's a lot of calling out," my neighbour said. "He wakes us all up." On the way out I stopped again at a painting displayed in the entrance. A simple oil, supposedly of the lowlands. Norfolk Summer. It was quite lovely. I've nowhere to put it I thought, stepping out into winter sunshine. It was a beautiful afternoon. Suddenly I was suffused with certainty. I went back. And bought the painting. Which I'll collect in January. I can see it in my mind's eye even now. Joy! As for the cost: eBay will finance it. One must always follow instinct in matters of the heart;-)