The anaesthetist has a sense of humour – am not sure whether this is good news or not. But by the time I’m woozily wheeled in for my foot op it’s all irrelevant.

And, when I come round, one leg is encased in serious plaster knee to tootsies and I have no memory of any conversation or surgical intervention which has transpired in the last few hours. Just the way I like it.

Three days later the stookie is replaced by a lighter weight number and four days later I’m home with strict instructions to put no weight on the limb in question for the next few weeks.

I have been a guest of Glasgow’s newest hospital, variously known as the Queen Betty, The Dark Star, and, to folks of my generation, the Southern General.

It’s Sunday name is the Queen Elizabeth University Hospital Glasgow, but life’s too short to indulge that sort of self important moniker.

With just short of 1700 beds it’s one of the biggest acute campuses in the UK, and all of us orthopaedic patients have our own room complete with en suite shower and loo and a TV/radio console to swing over the bed. You can wake up to John Humphreys if that’s your bag.

On top of which there’s a very civilised seven hours of visiting on offer.

Anyone who has been in a ward doubling as the ante room to bedlam will appreciate this new world order.

So, up close and personal with the NHS, there’s no cause for complaint with the quality of care on offer, but you can’t help noticing that all the staff are constantly hurry scurrying to get round a 28 bedroom unit.

And they’re also quite anxious to get you back home again when the knife gang has had its way with you.

The deal seems to be that if a ten minute encounter with hospital stairs in the company of a couple of physios gets you a pass mark – ie you fail to fall over – the nurses are informed that you’re ready to roll.

All a bit unnerving for a newly fledged uniped, but as one of the ward sisters noted, she had another 20 post operative patients to tuck up the following day so if I’d be good enough to get picked up after breakfast that would keep her on schedule.

In truth you can appreciate her problem – if she’s a bed short then some poor soul might wind up having a long awaited procedure indefinitely postponed.

Just the same I wondered what it would have been like for folks like me – temporarily halted in their usual tracks – who didn’t have the back up of good friends and the ability to source and install a few mobility aids.

That back up now includes a ramp built by friends which allows me to make the great escape into somebody else’s car. And a steady supply of unsolicited but very welcome home cooked goodies for myself and the pal who’s been sleeping over at my place in case I do an unscheduled landing on the deck during the night.

One thing life has always taught me – your real friends are the ones who make themselves available in myriad ways when the solid matter hits the fan.

The fair weather variety usually manage to find a pressing previous engagement.