Some people are woken each morning by alarm clocks - others rely on a partner digging them in the ribs.

I used to be stirred from my sleep by squabbling seagulls circling my chimney.

I say used to because in recent weeks I've been woken instead by the sound of The Mother wheezing and coughing as she made her way to the bathroom.

Finally, however, she has fallen silent (wonderful things, antibiotics) and the seagulls have got their jobs back.

Although it's rumoured that some doctors are not quite as thorough as they ought to be with elderly patients, that's certainly not the case with The Mother's GP.

Forced into keeping an appointment at the surgery recently, she returned an hour later looking dangerously hot, bothered and confrontational.

Boxes of tablets rattled out of her handbag, together with a note.

"I've got to have an X-ray and have my lungs checked - and it's all YOUR fault!" she snapped.

"It's not MY fault," I said. "If it's anyone's fault, and it's obviously not yours, the fault lies with Imperial Tobacco."

"I haven't had a cigarette . . ." The Mother began.

"Yes, I know," I said. "You haven't had a cigarette since the last one - and that was probably as soon as you were safely out of sight of the surgery."

The next day saw us sitting in the X-ray clinic. Even The Mother didn't require a No Smoking notice to deter her from lighting up.

"Have a sweet?" I said.

"Don't want a sweet," she replied.

"I've brought a banana in my bag," I continued unabashed. "Would you like that? No? A coffee from the snack bar?"

I like to imagine the people sitting opposite were impressed by this show of filial affection and attentiveness.

"I think I'll just go outside for a few minutes," said The Mother. "It's stuffy in here."

Windows were wide open at both sides of the room. It didn't feel stuffy to me.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," I said. There was no need to add that I knew what she'd popped into her handbag before we'd left the house.

Itold her instead that her name might be called while she was outside and then she would miss her appointment with the X-ray machine. Eventually her name was called and 15 minutes later we were on our way home.

"I think I'll go and have a lie down now," said The Mother. "The heat is really getting to me, I feel quite exhausted."

"Good idea, off you go," I said, thinking how frail and tired she looked.

"You're sometimes very hard on her," said a friend who was joining us for lunch. "Your mother doesn't ask for much, just a little TLC . . ."

"And a packet of Silk Cut," I muttered in reply.

Before eating lunch we went out into the back garden. An hour had passed since The Mother had disappeared into her room.

"Hello there! Feeling better?" my friend shouted suddenly and spinning round I saw a small face at an open bedroom window. Between the lips was a gently smouldering cigarette.

Too late, The Mother tried to duck inside. The lighted cigarette fell to the ground near my feet.

Purposefully I stamped on it until it was crushed. Then I looked up at the still open window.

"Gotcha!" I shouted triumphantly.