"The Day Mr Outie Became Mr Innie"

Once again, readers, fans (?) - and anyone else who's inadvertently stumbled upon this column whilst searching for something informative, educational and worthwhile to read on the internet - I'm pleased to announce that I've come amongst you in order to entertain, instigate debate and raise the odd titter with my take on the world. So - what have I been doing in my absence from this column? I suppose you could call it research, if you were being really lenient in your interpretation of the word. I shall endeavour to deal with things in chronological order, or something vaguely approaching it.

April saw me - with one week's notice - going into hospital for my long-awaited hernia operation, better known as The Day Mr Outie Became Mr Innie. Previous to that day, I hadn't had any surgery since my late teens. I was feeling neither fish nor foul; the operation wasn't strictly necessary but I wanted it for my self-confidence and whatever vestiges of vanity I retained, given that I have a face like a bulldog chewing heartily on a Wasp Sandwich. I'm also "used" to surgery, but I think that you never really get used to it. OK - I was apprehensive. But it was more about the two weeks' doing absolutely nothing while recuperating. Although my stay wasn't without it's fair share of incidents. First, I had a guy in the next bed who was in for varicose vein surgery. He was a nice guy, but I don't think he realised he punctuated every sentence with a loud "YES!". Then we had the Military Policeman who thought it would be a OK to slap his hulking great Alsatian when it interfered with his football game - and wondered why the dog had the temerity to affectionately chow down on BOTH of his owner's arms. And yes, you guessed it - he WAS wearing an all-white strip! Although the straw that broke the camel's back was when he told me that he was in casualty and a woman with a black eye was seen before him, despite the fact that he looked like an extra from a slasher flick. The surgery was successful, but my exit from the hospital was a logistical nightmare. The Pretty Lady Doc Who Kept Winking At Me (I won't name her to prevent her blushes) swore blind that she had arranged transport home for me. However, when I was discharged (keep in mind that this was Good Friday), none had been sorted. We tried an "accessible" taxi, but due to my unbendy legs, I couldn't get in it. So, the Staff Nurse ended up giving herself a field promotion and commandeered an ambulance taking some renal patients - whose dry humour would put many of Youreable's finest graveyard humour specialists to shame - to take me back home.

May saw me spending my birthday in Spain with Mum and Dad. Through a quirk in my Mum's grasp of Maths, my Dad's birthday is the day after mine, and my younger brother's is two days after that. I arrived to weather colder than when I'd left Lution. What I was really doing was charging my creative and physical batteries - and not just availing myself of ultra-cheap local alcohol. It amazes me that there are not more alcoholics in Spain. It would be so easy, what with the Spanish waiter's propensity for what is known as Distracted Waiter Syndrome. This occurs when they bring you a glass half the size of a brandy bowl, with ice, then pour your chosen poison freely in the glass, seemingly concentrating on anything other than your drink. You end up with a measure at least twice what you're expecting. Courtesy of two Bacardi and cokes each, me and Mum struggled up Cardiac Hill (our pet name for the steep hill that they live halfway up) and proceeded to siesta for all we were worth for most of the Saturday afternoon. Dad just sniggered at us in that drunk-as-you-but-I'm-good-at-hiding-it way that some people reserve for us "lightweights". And that was only the first full day of my stay! The week ended as it had begun - it actually had the audacity to rain on the way to the airport.

June was the month my faithful laptop died. It had served me well, was only treated to the occasional bad-tempered outburst, and was my window to the world. It caught a fatal virus, was temporarily revived by my local computer boffin/geek, Ian, but died last week. Rest in peace, Del. It's replacement is taking it's time to get to know it's owner, but I'm confident it will know who's the boss very soon. However, this enforced break from the computer did me some good. I didn't know how much of life I'd missed out on by being glued to a screen almost 24/7. I've read five books in two weeks - some from last birthday - and a couple I'm considering adapting for the screen. As some will know, I have a TV/Film production company. Unfortunately, due to that old chestnut "creative differences", we've had to part company with one of our colleagues. But Julie Fernandez and I are carrying on as before. She even gave us a great plug when she was on "LK Today" with Lorraine Kelly - which could be a welcome boost to our fortunes.

So that, my friends, is what I have mostly been doing in my absence from you. Be assured that normal service will be resumed as of July.