"You learn about abiding, all-out love in hospital"

I’VE JUST discovered that my 48-year-old husband will be undergoing a hip replacement on my birthday.

He’s beaten up his body on the soccer pitch so badly over the years that bits of it now require substitution. So I’ll be blowing out my candles beside his hospital bed.

And this colourful little tableau (oh my eyes) is as good a place as any, I suppose, to start writing the column I had in mind for this week.