I have just had dinner. It was very nice. We had little fruit flavoured fromage frais for pudding.

I was reminded of hospital (and of course my sadly neglected diary), now more than a year ago, and a request from Team Nursey to nab one of my Petits Filous from the fridge for a chap who was a bit poorly.

He was so ill that he was entirely bedridden. He couldn't go to the toilet or feed himself. Or speak now that I come to think of it. Tubes entered his bed and undoubtedly his various unspeakable parts.

I think cancer was not the biggest of his worries if we're being honest. However, he had obviously found that taking 47 pills at once was much easier if they were all mixed in with a couple of little tubs of Fromage Frais which I observed him having spooned into him with great gusto on several occasions. I gave up my little milk-derived pudding gladly for this man. In return his daughter bought me a whole 6 pack to say thank you.

I rather suspect that this man is dead. I've no way of finding out, but today I find myself unable to look at this dessert in quite the same way.