“I wonder what’s happening to Chris,” said Katie with a worried look (she’s such a caring niece).

“I hope they aren’t amputating his leg,” I grinned and we laughed.

“He’s been in there for an awfully long time…” added Katie.

“Yes, he has been in with his doctor for much longer than you were with yours,” I agreed. “I reckon there are doors on the other side – maybe they are giving him a scan – or maybe he fainted and they are resuscitating him!”

At that moment the doctor’s door opened a few inches and a blond curly head peeked through the gap and beckoned me over.

“How’s Katie?” asked Chris.

“Broken finger – Mary was right – what about you?”

“I’ve been waiting for a nurse to come for ages,” said my husband, “just look – I have a normal knee again. He drained it.”

Chris sat down on the couch and held up his leg, which was bright yellow from thigh to calf. I stifled a laugh.

“I know, the doctor put on too much iodine; that’s why the nurse is coming along – to clean off the excess and put on a Tubi-grip.”

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He apologised for putting on too much iodine,” Chris joked, “and he told me there was nothing wrong with the joint. The water collected as a result of the initial brunt when I came off my bike onto the pavement but there is no hidden damage.”

The nurse came in and it was quite interesting to watch her measure out a hose of Tubi-grip from ankle to thigh and back again. Then she had to stretch it over a round metal framework – I helped.

“You’ll soon have that off,” said the nurse with a knowing smile, “it gets quite hot!”

“It’s rather hot,” said Chris as we all walked out the front door into the fresh air and sunshine.

“Think I’ll take my sling off,” announced Katie, “or Mum will worry.”

“I thought it was midnight in there,” I squinted to shield my eyes from the bright outdoors.

“It’s only about a quarter to seven,” marvelled Katie, “it seemed like about ten hours.”

“Let me take a nice photo of you two,” I suggested.

And Kate and Chris obliged good-heartedly. Chris’s stockinged leg reminded me of a cross between Widow Twanky, the pantomime dame, and King Henry VIII when he was ill with gout; nevertheless, he put his best foot forward just for the fun of it. Half an hour later my sister Mary and my nephew James also put a best foot and broken finger forward when it was suggested that all wounded family members present should be photographed together for posterity, which is why I was the photographer.