I would like to say a big thank you to the superb medical staff at Addenbrooke’s Hospital, Cambridge who treated David’s broken bone in his thumb.

He tripped up on some steps in Hull last week at 2.30am after a night out with his uni friends and returned to his Cambridgeshire home plastered – literally. Within days, he had miraculously mastered texting with his left hand.

Yesterday he was whizzed into day surgery where the dislocated and broken bones were wired up and he was able to come home early evening.

Fortunately for him, it happened after David had finished his exams, and fortunately for me, after the Euro election so I could spend time with him in hospital without worrying about work.

The bad news for David is that his injury means he cannot use his right hand for the next month or so and is unable to return to his summer job at Dune shoe shop in Cambridge until it heals. As a self-funding student, he really needed that money, so this accident is costing him dear.

What really surprised me about Addenbrooke’s was how it turns a blind eye to patients smoking outside their front door, despite a speaker announcement stating that it is forbidden, and advising of their designated smoking areas.

I saw patients puffing away in wheelchairs and strapped to drips and it certainly gave a very poor impression.

*Meanwhile, not only has James given up his drama lessons for golf, but also cricket, which I am disappointed about. Last summer he played for two local teams, as well as the Lords & Commons X1, and I loved seeing him dressed in his whites. Going to matches was the only time I would catch up on my reading too, ensuring I was not glued to the computer at least a couple of warm, summer evenings each week.

The other day I had a text message from him asking me to pick him up from the golf club later than planned as he had met up with “a pro” who was giving him some tips.

When I arrived, I pulled up in my usual spot marked “ladies captain”. This is next to the club captain’s parking bay. James is usually pretty prompt, but on this occasion the minutes ticked by and the club captain arrived and packed his clubs in the boot of his convertible Mercedes.

I felt a bit awkward about being caught out in the ladies captain’s parking bay, so I just smiled at him and started chatting about James’ love of golf and how it had taken over his life. He avoided eye contact for a while, maybe feeling he should be giving me a ticking off for my faux pas. I sensed that was one big black mark in my copy book.

James then sauntered along and I could see him inwardly wincing, hoping I wasn’t embarrassing him. The captain said he remembered playing with James last year; James didn’t remember, so maybe he has confused James with someone else.

James’ biggest fear is that one day I will take up golf too…