It’s all about women preferring animals as they get older. Like a dieter fantasising about Jaffa Cakes, I briefly scanned the comments, gave a deep shudder and clicked away rapidly. Actually, I thought I glimpsed something positive in there, but perhaps it was a hallucination.

Here is Antonia Quirke in the New Statesman, reviewing Cleaning Up. There are shades of the snitty Guardian review here, albeit in a different way. I have to ask myself whether these writers (and they are both published authors) were working from the same book as the one I actually wrote.

It may be that writing about drugs makes some writers feel very competitive. Perhaps this competitiveness is worse among women. There is urge to sneer if you haven’t done them, and the urge to impose your own experience if you have. God knows.

Or perhaps I am just feeling scared and cross because I have just written a long article about my stroke for a newspaper, and going over it all is reminding me how vulnerable I’m feeling – and then some foolish person (I wrote something stronger there before) comes along and misrepresents what I wrote in my book. And then a bloke who lives in my building has just come round and merrily told me that he signed for a parcel of mine, totally without my permission or knowledge, and that has pissed me off more than any of the above.

Aw hell, have another kitten.

Right, I’m going for a walk.

I’m hoping to post more on here but, post-hospital, I’ve got all sorts of things to sort out; things that, although technically only take a couple of hours, seem to use up the whole day.

I could rant about my relationship with Vodafone, or the price of the iPhone, or the fact that it’s not the needle-sticking that’s bugging me about all the blood tests I’m having, but tearing the tape off my arm later. Oh ow and whine. In fact, I do have a couple of rants up my sleeve, but I’m feeling a bit mellow, in the enforced way of convalescence, and am waiting for the next blood-pressure raising piece of vicious stupidity to appear in the paper to kick me off again.

Actually, strike that for the moment. With all the troubles in the world, I would rather think about kittens.