IT is a rare event for John to accompany me to the theatre or cinema. Perhaps a James Bond film might tempt him. But a pantomime when our children were younger? Or a play that I might fancy? It’s generally a no.

But I thought I was onto a winner when I booked tickets for us to watch a live screening of Billy Connolly at a local cinema. Friends accompanied us and the evening was hotly anticipated. Earlier in the day, however, John had needed to go to the dentist for an extraction. It left him fearful of eating anything in case he dislodged a blood clot, but he did feel he could manage a drink of wine.

Seated at the opposite end of the row to John, and engrossed in the screening, I apparently missed the fact that John had left the auditorium, made his way out and then promptly collapsed. Fortunately, a lady on the back row had seen him and when John came round was able to come and fetch me from his description of where I was sitting.

Panic. There was my strapping farmer husband, white as a sheet and dripping with sweat. How lucky that Dayle, the lady who had spotted he was having a bit of a wobbler, was alert to the fact that he was not a well man. I can report, though, that despite all the complaints about our NHS, I have nothing but praise for the fast response of the ambulance crew and the A &E department. They were all brilliant and I thanked them all profusely.

A few hours later and after some snatched sleep, John felt well enough to take Moss for a day’s picking up game on a friend’s shoot. And today he has left me alone with the Gator and lots of sacks of grain to feed round the ducks and pheasants on his shoot, while he goes off fishing for a week on the Tweed. You would not believe that this was the same man who looked so ill a couple of nights ago and who had me in a state of terror when the response 999 telephonist asked if he looked like he was going to die.

Die? He’d better not. I don’t mind feeding round as well as walking three dogs on my own for a limited time. And checking on the sheep and having a stand up fight with some very aggressive geese every night at bed time. To think I helped them out of their shells, dried off their feathers when they hatched and now all they want to do is peck and hiss at me. Patience could be a rare virtue at the end of this week and there is room in the freezers for trouble makers.