By Wednesday last week I'd had enough of work.
Dreams of early retirement with leisurely days spent on a sun-drenched beach somewhere with a never ending glass of refreshing gin and tonic began to enter my thoughts as I sat in front of my computer.
If I'm completely honest the Brazilian women's beach volleyball team cavorting on that same beach entered my thoughts momentarily, too, until it dawned on me I was closer to 70 than 17.
So, sensible thoughts had to be brought from the deepest recesses of my mind to help get me through the rest of the week.
How about my stock standard relaxing weekend? A takeaway while watching rugby on the telly and a gin and tonic to wash it all down. Perfect. Can't wait.
And then life stuck its nose in.
I won't bore you with the intimate details except to say Mrs P was called to the Big Smoke for an urgent medical procedure. They needed her there for Saturday.
Naturally as she is the love of my life (and I can't work the microwave if she's not there), I went along too as moral support/driver/eye candy. As you do.
Some time around lunchtime on Saturday I found myself sitting alone in Mrs P's hospital room. She had been wheeled off somewhere and I was contemplating a dash down the road for a semi-stale sammie from the servo. One of those oxygen starved, turned up at the edges items which looks like its been clawing at the inside of the packaging, trying to escape suffocation.
And then things took an unexpected twist.
As I sat there waiting and thumbing through an old women's magazine - apparently there are nine things you can do with leftover lasagne. Who knew? - a nurse appeared at the door carrying a large meal tray.
"Mr So and So has gone home unexpectedly so we've got a spare meal. Would you like it?"
Would I ever.
So I pulled up a chair in front of the big window overlooking the park and lifted the lid on the offering.
Crusted chicken parmegana on a bed of wilted spinach with potatoes. A freshly baked bread roll and butter. Custard and fruit dessert and, to top it all off, a nice pot of tea.
I praised the skill of the surgeon who had done such a good job on Mr So and So that he'd been sent home early thus missing the delectable delight.
I was thinking I should write him a thank you letter when a whistle blast from outside jolted me back to reality. A game of rugby was starting in the park.
For the next hour I ate, drank and watched rugby just like I'd planned at home. And when I had finished I patted my nicely full midriff and thought to myself a snooze would be nice.
Naturally I knew I shouldn't sleep as I was still in Mrs P's hospital room but surely they wouldn't mind if i just hopped up on the bed for a bit and stretched out to help my lunch go down would they?
Luckily the bed was one of those you can adjust with a remote so for the next 10 minutes or so I tried every position it offered until, just right, a went back to watching the rugby.
I'm sure you can see where this is going but I'll carry on.
I have no idea who won the game. One minute I was watching it, the next I was being shaken awake by the now returned Mrs P and an accompanying nurse.
"What are you doing?," said my beloved. "We could hear you snoring down the corridor."
Quickly we swapped places and I stood sheepishly in the corner as the nurse settled Mrs P in for her overnight stay and then suggested it was probably time for me to go so my lady could get some rest.
As I left the nurse suggested I might like to come back tomorrow around mid-morning, after the doctors had done their rounds.
I mumbled a thank you and left, still somewhat embarrassed. I wasn't brave enough to enquire what time they served breakfast.
■ Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to email@example.com