For the past couple of years my doctor’s been monitoring my thyroid. With regular blood tests and adjustments in medication we have it almost, but not quite, under control. It’s been a little sluggish of late so he prescribed tablets to boost its performance.

Following a recent blood test my doctor phoned to discuss the results. “I’m a little perplexed,” he told me (never a good start).

“These results are way outside the usual parameters.”

I felt a knot forming in my stomach – where was he heading?

“You are taking the correct dose aren’t you?” I told him I was. “You are sure?”

“I suppose with all the adjustments we’ve made I could be mixing up the dosage.”

He wasn’t convinced but agreed I should have another test.

The moment he disconnected I shot over to the medicine cupboard to check but couldn’t find a thing. Mrs B had dumped everything in a Tupperware container, which I emptied on the kitchen table.

I sifted through and found the pills I’d been taking. Directions on the label said: ‘One tablet each day’ but it wasn’t the instructions that freaked me out – it was the name of Tally, my little yellow Labrador bitch, written on the bottle.

Her tablets were identical to my own. I’d been taking Tally’s medication for distended nipples and giving her my thyroid pills. I was mortified.

“Who was that on the phone,” asked Mrs B entering the kitchen. “No one.”

“I thought I heard you say ‘doctor’.

“It was some PR guy.”

“PR guy?”

“Yeah, you know, a spin doctor.”

“Mmm!”

Look, I think I got away with it. Once my nipples reappear and Tally stops hurtling around the lounge like a super collider I might have to call my doctor and fess-up.

Until then – keep schtum.