Husband wobbled in from company Christmas party at 2.30am or thereabouts. Woke up when I heard him saying a booming goodbye to the cab driver outside our bedroom window. Then he eventually got the door unlocked, switched on all the lights, banged doors – you know the sort of thing. When he finally managed to get up the stairs, he spent a noisy five minutes in the bathroom, then came and sat on our bed. “How was your evening darling?” (in as friendly a tone of voice as I could muster). “Marbellose” came the slurred reply. Sensing that was as descriptive as he was going to get, I snuggled back down into the cosy depths of our duvet. The lights went off, he rolled heavily into bed and promptly fell asleep. As I lay there in the still blackness, trying to ignore the alcoholic fumes that were permeating the room, I could hear my heart beating. And listening to that regular thump, thump, thump it made me realise how little I think of, or appreciate, this most vital of organs. So I just wanted to say “thank you” to my hardworking heart.