If you haven’t got anything much to say, don’t say anything. Which hasn’t been my policy over the last few years, but seems to be now.

It’s not all bad, by any means. It’s just that there isn’t much to say. I’ve recognised that wittering on in a Bertie Wooster fashion – sub-Bertie, I should say – isn’t that entertaining. I’m no PG.

The most interesting thing that happened in the past few days was also the most alarming, though no harm was done. I had a blood donor session on Friday afternoon. I was out at the antiques club (look, it’s very good, the speaker is totally brilliant and I’m making lots of friends) in the morning, so thought I’d try somewhere on the way back, that I’d never been before but was interested in, for lunch. I had a good breadfast with a lot of tea, coffee mid-morning and a rare biscuit, because I could afford it, in the circs and then drank a pot of tea while I was waiting for my avocado, onion and red pepper covered ciabatta roll, with salad and chips. I removed the top half of the roll, but it was so good that I ate a bit of the crust. I had coffee to finish. I say all this to demonstrate that I had eaten and drunk appropriately, and then I had another pint of lemon squash before the donation … but I’m ahead of myself. I set off for the venue, rather early, and stopped to check how long it would take to get there…………not the venue I was expecting. Actually more convenient from home, but I’d forgotten that I’d booked it. Luckily, I was in plenty of time, so set off for the right place, very glad of my belt-and-braces tendency, that had led me to recheck.

I ate ginger nuts and drank more lemon squash afterwards. I took it very easy all evening and ate chicken liver pate, cheese, biscuits and rocket salad for dinner. At 8 pm, I was suddenly very tired and headed for bed. I really wanted to go straight to bed, but went to clean my teeth first. My toothbrush needed recharging, but I thought I’d leave that, I really was quite woozy, and set off across the landing.

There was one hell of a thump. A series of them – – bang, bang, bang, bang. I had no idea what was happening. But I woke up and realised I had actually fainted. I was fine, luckily, nothing hurt and I lay and thought about it for a minute or two before opening my eyes. I was bewildered. I was at the bottom of the stairs.

I’ll cut to the chase, I’m fine. Amazingly and luckily, I didn’t hurt myself at all. I did bang my head a couple of times, but not badly and I took it easy for the weekend and have slept as much as possible and I really am fine. I’d have phoned the doctor yesterday, but I couldn’t honestly have said I needed attention.

So, to come back to lying at the bottom of the stairs. I realised that I’d fainted at the top and fallen and, though unconscious, I’d heard myself thumping all the way down. It was bloody noisy!

The boots I was wearing are a bit awkward to remove, so I did it lying down and then I went up to bed. I didn’t really sleep – it was only 8.15 when I got into bed and I don’t know for how long I’d been unconscious – I guess it was 5-10 minutes – I was still awake at 4am. But I was okay next day and slept very well the next night, and last night. It was hearing myself falling downstairs, but not feeling it that really gets me, though.

When Russell died, he had stumbled on the way down the step to the bathroom. I’d caught him, but I couldn’t support his tall body, even though he was desperately thin. So I supported him as I went down to my knees and then sat, and reassured him that we’d get up in a minute, just as soon as we could manage it. He didn’t reply, I looked and he was dead. Not a sigh or a convulsion, he’d simply died. I thought – you can be rational, whatever the circumstances. He was terminally ill, desperately thin and uncomfortable, though he denied any pain. This was gentle and as easy as it could be. I let him go. My next thought was that he might still be able to hear me. So I kept talking about how he’d be all right in a minute and I’d help him up. Might have talked about love and stuff too. Don’t remember what I said. But I think he heard me, with the last minute or two of his dying brain.

Anyway, I seem to have recovered, but I’m still having early nights. The clocks changed in the early hours of Sunday morning, but this just confuses me and I go to bed earlier and get up later. Not late tomorrow though, as Wink and I are off to That London.