Drama at Rosemary's mother's sheltered accommodation residence. The care worker, who dashes in twice daily for 15 minutes to put drops in the mother's eyes, dabbed at the eye rather too robustly with a tissue. Rosemary paid her mummy a visit and found her in a bit of a mess. Next day, Rosemary's sister visited and spotted seeping sores on the mother's legs. Groo. The sisters called the doctor, who came at once. "Good job my mother has observant relatives," says Rosemary, "but now the personal laundry service has gone haywire."

What a pity there isn't someone on the premises able to spot seeping sores and do eye drops in a more leisurely way. But there's only one fellow on duty - the cook (his wife, the other half of the staff, is on maternity leave) and a part-time cleaning lady. Anyway, staff are not allowed to do eye drops. Nor give aspirin, nor change light bulbs.

What strange goings-on. And stranger still, there are no staff around at night - night here being from 5.30pm to 8am. This is fairly common in sheltered accommodation. But what if someone is poorly? Hard cheese. They'll just have to manage, or press the emergency thingy that they're meant to wear round their necks, but don't, because they don't like them or can't remember to wear them. But even if they do have one, it isn't always plain sailing. My friend Mavis's grandfather, 96, was in sheltered accommodation, also with no night staff on duty, when he had a heart attack in the middle of the night. He pulled his emergency cord to a 24-hour response line, which called an ambulance and the manager across town. The manager was fast asleep and didn't hear the call. The ambulance showed up, but couldn't get into grandpa's flat, so he had to crawl to the door and open it mid heart attack.

What a crummy idea - no staff all night. Rosemary's mother has her dinner at 4.30pm and is then more or less banged up till morning. Inmates are not allowed in the kitchen. But Rosemary isn't moaning about the place. It's all right, and the food is fabulous, says she. They just can't afford night staff. Care costs are zooming up and councils will only pay an annual increase lower than inflation, or nothing. And this is, after all, not a care home - which is where Rosemary's mother should be, but isn't, for loads of complicated reasons: she wasn't this weedy when she moved in, but the older you get, the weedier you tend to get; and she should be moved, but where to? There may not be a suitable place. Anyway, she's settled in, and moving often finishes an old person off.

But most importantly, sheltered accommodation, or supported living, whatever that is, is much cheaper than a care home, and these are tough times. What is a local authority to do, when it's hard up? Answer: demand improvements and pay nothing for them. If only we could all do that.

What a minefield this area is. I can't get to grips with it. Who pays for what? The government pays the councils, the councils don't pay the providers enough, health and social services squabble about responsibility. And what sort of accommodation is what? In sheltered accommodation you have your own front door. In a care home you do not. Rosemary's mummy only has a door to her bedroom, which has a kettle in it, fruit, and a thermos of hot water. There is a communal living room. No one communes in it.

I have instructed Daughter never to send me to such a place. Should the possibility arise, I will chain myself to the banisters and die here alone, the dogs' final snack, and that will solve the care home/sheltered housing problem for me. Meanwhile, the agency supplying the eye-wiping carer has sent Rosemary's mother a Homecare Service Assessment questionnaire to fill in, asking "How well does the [care] worker communicate with colleagues? Would you ask this worker to return? Other comments on this worker? Use of initiative? Knowledge of care practice?"

and such like. How many 90-plus-year-olds could fill that in? That's where your money goes, Mr and Mrs Taxpayer. The "dignity for the elderly" campaign seems to have gone on to the back burner for the time being. Quick. Get it back to the front. Because it's your turn next.

· Women are to be legally allowed to breastfeed in public. Thank heavens, but what a surprise. I didn't know, until I opened the paper this morning, that it could be a chargeable public order or indecency offence. I mentioned this breakthrough ruling to Fielding, but he is not thrilled. He thinks public breastfeeding is a middle-class passion. "It's you Guardian types," says he, in a bit of a bate. "You're making a point: 'It's natural, we ought to be able to do it.' You're all earth mothers with flat shoes."

Crikey. Usually Fielding is deeply liberal, but if he spots a breastfeeding woman, he has to turn away. And so do I. But what's wrong with that? The breastfeeding women probably don't want passers-by staring at them anyway. I did have to stare at one once, because she was right opposite me at table on a Greek holiday. The table was narrow, her breasts were enormous, and her baby ravenous and vomiting now and again, and I did have a bit of a problem eating my meze. But I feel that this is an experience that I must put behind me. Breastfeeding is good for babies and mothers. Women must be able to do it whenever and wherever they please. Fielding and I will manage to cope somehow.

· This week Michele saw an advance screening of the BBC4 series Jews, by Vanessa Engle: "She asks all the questions I would like to ask - probing, personal, almost offensive - about trauma and seemingly bizarre practices and behaviours. And all the Jews answer in a surprisingly honest, humorous and good-natured way. If this doesn't increase tolerance and understanding, nothing will."