As the anaesthetist promised, I have woken up and am attached to a plethora of tubes. I can definitely feel my missing leg – even down to the toes – which is very weird. I have had a sneak preview of my well-covered stump, but that’s enough for today. I think it won’t feel as if it has really gone until I try to stand up… and fall over. For now I’m happy not to go with that thought. My husband Alastair, who loves hospitals and all things medical, is busy making friends with nurses and has worked out what tubes lead where and what’s in them. Not enough morphine in my opinion. I thought I would wake up mourning this loss, but my jolly and efficient Zimbabwean nurse has set the tone of the evening, which is not conducive to self pity. My lovely daughter/scribe is updating me on everything, from the state of my tropical fish, my dog, relatives… and the likelihood of Katie Price’s marriage to Alex lasting the year.