Poor Rosemary's leg, which she broke five years ago, has erupted again. "Look!" she begs, hobbling to a bench, almost crippled on our dog walk. "I want you to look at it." What a ghastly request. I have a quick glimpse at Rosemary's purple puffball ankle and ominous-looking wound. Yuck. But she has an even worse horror for me to look at: her letter from the hospital.

"You have been placed on the outpatients' waiting list," says the letter, "and we will write to you again four weeks before we are able to offer an appointment. You will then be invited to contact us to arrange a date and time to attend the clinic, which should be within four weeks of you contacting us. There is currently a waiting time of approximately 30 weeks to see a consultant."

What a sly trick. This way they are apparently sticking to our fabulous government's promised 30-week waiting list, while secretly taking God knows how long. Will Rosemary have a leg left by the time she's waited X weeks for the four-week wait for the 30-week wait for the appointment?

I have another nervous peek at the leg. What is that purply blackening area and nasty suppurating bit in the middle? Infected bone? Gangrene? Death of a foot? Rosemary can hardly sleep for terror and pain. She is guzzling antibiotics and painkillers for dear life.

As usual, when she has a dangerous injury, she goes off to Cornwall to clamber up and down mountainous cliff paths and over rocky beaches. My mother can only think of one reason for this folly. Rosemary must have a secret lover down there. But she hasn't. She is just in love with Cornwall. I beg her not to go but will she listen? Not likely.

And one can almost understand. She may as well enjoy herself while her leg rots. No consultants are available anyway. Luckily, she returns from Cornwall with two whole legs and staggers to her GP. At last, he has located her X-ray results. They had been sent to the GP she left three years ago. Her new GP is outraged. He writes a strict letter mentioning Rosemary's severe pain and demands that she be attended to at once. Some hope. And she can't even have a drink while she's waiting - and waiting and waiting...