Comedians mention them and everyone laughs. Nice people never mention them. I do, because I feel I should.

On a recent visit to the Royal Sussex County Hospital for treatment of the unmentionable "piles", I lay in a position not to be recommended, having my nether regions injected.

The surgeon had directed me like a traffic inspector to the place I found myself in. He set about his task silently and only broke this to announce, for he announced rather than asked, "Are you married? If so, the wall is thin." Nothing more.

Stupefied by pain, I was left to figure out what he meant. Was it a coded message? Recently, having learnt to play bridge, I had decided everything was in code - and now the NHS.

What to do? If I had a husband - which I currently haven't - should I refuse all conjugal rights, lest the neighbours were in? Was my home structurally unsafe? Was an estimate for a new facing wall required? Replastering? Soundproofing? Or worse - complete demolition?

I staggered home in a way only those who have been down that particular road would know. Best never marry again. If the pain I was experiencing was anything to go by, my wall was safe "til eternity".

Sleep, that night, was painful and confused. I was troubled by visitations from Carol Vorderman of Better Homes, Lawrence with the frilly cuffs trying to catch me for Changing Rooms and, worse still, Alan Titchmarsh of Ground Force insisting on showing me the advantage of "double decking".

I resolved to visit B&Q the next morning or, better still, invest in a couple of dozen language courses, hoping I might hit on the right one.

I did write to the chief executive, knowing he had a good sense of humour. The reply stated the consultant I had seen was from Damascus and no longer in residence.

Perhaps he has taken that long road back. With more than a sigh of relief, I have crossed Arabic off my list.

-Christine White, Sackville Road, Hove