I woke up this morning after a bad night. I have slept badly and I   realise that there is something wrong. I look at my bedside clock and remember that I have not set the alarm. A brief panic subsides when I remember that I do not have an appointment until 10 o'clock. It's  8.35 a.m. I yawn, swing my legs out of bed and walk to the window. As I draw the curtains the morning sun streams through the window. I smile with pleasure. Downstairs in the kitchen I make some coffee. I pour milk from the jug into my coffee cup. Tasting the coffee I pull a face, realising the milk has gone sour. Then another shock to my still semi-comatose system -- the phone rings. 

It's  my daughter who always brings me pleasure but not this morning. She has been up most of the night with her sick baby daughter. She is distraught, afraid, tired and in tears. She wants to speak to her mother who is out so I do my best to give her medical advice. 

Then she reminds me that I have forgotten to collect a prescription for her from the chemist for my granddaughter. I apologise as I hear the baby screaming in the background. I am furious at my own forgetfulness.

'What do I do? She just won't stop,' she shouts.