Indeed there are those of us who recall that if you want to spend the winter in an Antarctic research station prior appendicectomy was once considered essential, so Ned could well have taken this to be something of an advantage.

It wasn't the appendix that made the slip interesting, though, it was the three-week post-appendicectomy stay with Clostridium difficile that caught my eye, so when Ned appeared, I asked what it had been like.

You may well ask, quoth he. Upon testing positive he was transferred to a side ward and barrier nursed by large women in masks whose faces he never saw.

His sister was told that she, and only she, could visit him, that visiting hours would be limited and she must sign in and sign out via the ward nurse, washing her hands repeatedly and proving her identity frequently. She must bring in at least three Actimel yogurts a day to replenish his friendly bacteria.

For Ned it was bizarre. The hospital diet was supplemented thrice daily by bowls of something termed 'special custard'. He could not face it, and declared a disinterest, upon which a nurse was sent to bully him.

'I don't want it,' he said, aware of the childish overtones but attempting an adult engagement anyway.

She hadn't engaged at all. 'You've got to eat it,' she said, 'it's your treatment.'

He sighed. 'What happens if I don't?'

'You'll probably die,' quoth she with genuine gravity.

Ned snorted. 'Don't be ridiculous,' he said, 'I'm still walking around.'

The charge nurse flounced out crossly, leaving him to his Actimel and history records that he came out, a couple of weeks later, perfectly cured.

It was a success all round, I'm told. Particularly as the patient is convinced he was abducted by aliens and has vowed never to set foot in the hospital again.

• Clikc here to catch up with Mary's Road to Revalidation blog