I HAVE been thinking about my mum more than ever recently and her treatment up at the hospital – more on that one later.

And when one has time to think I do wonder why, on occasion, I gave all the information needed to the virtual ward nurse who came out to see mum, then an hour later I had to repeat everything to the ambulance driver who imputted it into his system, then when mum reached A and E, I had to give all that information yet again.And then she was transferred to the ward and I had to give it for the fourth time.

My cousin is a consultant working overseas and once all the information is given once, a QR code is generated and so all the information is readily available just for the click of a button.

I got so used to giving out that information that when anyone asked for an address / date of birth, I’d automatically give them mum’s.

And I have still no idea what the point was in giving all the same information over and over and over again for no-one to do anything with it. I wonder, in which black hole is it all still sitting?

I did an article for the Mail on Sunday last week about my obsession with stationery and it appears people like me are legion. There is no money better spent for me than on a new pen or a notebook although if you get a REALLY fancy one it’s counter-productive because you’re too afraid to use it and it sits on a shrine to be worshipped but you go off to B and M and buy a cheapo that you aren’t afraid to use.

I’ve been besieged by people writing to me to tell me things like Parker make an ink pen you can use on a plane (apparently the pressure makes the ink refuse to come down the tube or something) and maybe a bit too much information in places. I just want to buy it and use it, not study it as if I were writing a thesis on it.

You either get this passion or you don’t. But our passions are tailor made for us and do not always conform to what should happen in a rational world. Why else would other people get all sweaty with anticipation just to own a rare sandwich box (Dave Bautista for instance).

Stationery coveting is an obsession for which there is no known successful treatment. Good. Who wants to be cured?

Just a reminder that I will be selling and signing my new book at Tesco on Wombwell Lane, Stairfoot tonight (Friday) at 6-8pm and the Book Vault on Market Street tomorrow (Saturday) morning 10am-12 and then onto Meadowhall Waterstones at 1.30pm.

The last time I was at Tesco on signing duty, there was a near riot because people were worried they didn’t have enough of my books in stock for them. It was the closest I’ve ever been to being a rock star. They had to employ extra security.

The queue was two hours long. One woman told me that I was ‘right up to the fish’ – and since meeting her, every time something is really really good in my life, I’ve thought ‘That’s right up to the fish that is’.

Is it egotistical of me to hope that happens again? Course it is but I’ll take it.

Writers have egos the size of planets. Why else would we believe we had written something that millions might enjoy? Including Mr Netflix.