I frown as I grip the telephone receiver.

“But what about getting up in the middle of the night? If the Baby needs comforting?”

Abuse pervades the copper wires.

“Oh. Right-o.”

I leave the Baby in the capable hands of the Cheap Babysitter and set off on my mercy dash. The Fens are dark and eerie as I speed along in the moonlight.

It seems to me that if you are going to get run over, then you may as well get run over in the ambulance bay of a major hospital. The ambulance people certainly appreciated it, being able to register a 35-second response on their official govt. statistics form. This will allow them to sit around drinking tea and writing their web logs before pootling up to the next client fifteen minutes and twenty-five seconds later, still maintaining their response time average target.

Oh yes, the ambulance people would be suspects, if the authorities had not already identified an old lady brandishing a Renault Megane. But did she act alone? My mind races.

I worry that the finger of suspicion will point at me, after the falling-through-staircase/electrocution fiascos. But they were accidents, I swear. I may have to do a tearful TV appeal just to prove that it was not anything to do with me.

I pull up outside the hospital, parking illegally in a place that you are absolutely forbidden to park in, ie convenient for the door. I can see her through the glass – she looks all right enough, just a bit flatter than normal. Some bits of her are in plaster.

There is a pissed off look on her face. I wheel her to the car and pour her in.

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