I remember going with my mother in law to the hospital for an eye appointment. It was just as described except for the ending. The eye consultant is a bit of a legend locally known for her stylish dressing and shoes. When I came to write this story I realised it followed on from Joy’s Little Problem and made a nice sequel.

The ophthalmic clinic was in the bowels of the hospital. It was busy and airless and with not enough seats. Busy nurses appeared and called out a name, the patient coming back soon afterwards to wait again. No-one seemed to leave.

Eventually it was my turn. The nurse covered one eye at a time and asked me to read the lowest line on the eye chart, having done that she told me to  take a seat. The second time my name was called I went to the consulting room. It looked like any opticians full of equipment except the female consultant wore red Jimmy Choo shoes.

Silently she checked each pupil, and then asked me what the problem was. I was a little surprised because I’d assumed Dr Patel had forwarded my information to the hospital. Frustrated I ripped open my blouse wondering if she would call security or redirect me to psychiatry. I came straight out with it. ‘It’s my third eye. It’s continually weeping.’

After a moment she stood up and turning said, ‘We all have something we prefer to keep hidden.’ A long chunky leopard’s tail flicked out.

This time  I was the one who fainted.