I picked Patricius up as his home and we drove out to a garden centre for lunch. He’d been away for Christmas and we had a little bit of catching up to do.

As we were chatting and eating, I bit my tongue. “Ouch!” I said, but thought nothing much of it. Although later in the meal I commented that I thought that it was bleeding.

After wandering around the garden centre, we went back to his for Christmas cake, which his niece had baked, and a cup of tea to continue our chat.

He’s funny and deep and well-boundaried, which is what I think I appreciate about him, however, that nor the conversation are the point of this little story.

My tongue was still bleeding – and if anything was bleeding worse.

Later on, at home, my tongue is still bleeding. I’m beginning to feel nauseous.

So I do what I often do when my tummy feels upset: I put something in it.

Wash your brain out! Not everything is about sex!

Just a bit of bread and cheese, and a hot drink – which it seems was fatal! My tongue really started to bleed hard and wouldn’t stop.

I checked with a friend what I should do. I was feeling really very ill, and thought that I might take an antinausea tablet.

“No,” was the firm answer, “dial 111 [the non-emergency emergency number] and tell them what’s going on.”

I phoned them, they asked for my not inconsiderable list of medications and picked up on the two anti-platelet medications that I was taking since my heart attack back in August.

“Get yourself to A&E,” they said.

One short Uber ride later, I checked into A&E. I feel like a fraud, because – come on – is only bitten my tongue and everybody dies that from time to time! I’ve done it more times than I can remember.

But I am also feeling embarrassed because I am now heaving and regularly vomiting up blood clots into a bowl. You’d think that I was having some kind of internal haemorrhage rather than a poxy little bite to the tongue.

This A&E department does a very quick physical assessment before putting people back into the queue, which according to the board for be anywhere up to six or seven hours. It was very busy being a Friday night.

Should I just go home and stop being so dramatic?

Pleugh! I sick up another blot of blood. Maybe not. No taxi would want to take somebody vomiting blood home.

Behind me there were some very smelly guys talking politics. I didn’t like them and I felt uncomfortable. I also wondered about the smell – I assumed it was them. I really hoped that it wasn’t me!

I think I waited for only an hour until a nurse came and took me somewhere quiet.

Bless him! He treated me seriously and slotted checking on me between his other patients. At least one of which was definitely serious: an elderly lady on a similar cocktail of drugs to me who was having current heat trouble.

The nurse tried me on a bday of ice for ten minutes. That didn’t help – I was bleeding to heavily and was making a mess of myself now.

Then he tried a clotting agent on gauze applied to my tongue. That made me yak up the biggest clot yet.

Yet, over the period of an hour or so, the bleeding slowing stopped.

The doctor came and checked on me. No stitches required (so it clearly was a tiny cut), but I must keep taking all my medication: they can miss easily deal with a bleed like this than another heart attack.

After catching a cab back home and cuddling the dog for half an hour, I was in bed by 2am. The whole travel to the hospital, wait, treatment, and journey home had taken only four hours.

This morning I am seeing my Rope Master – I am going to have to be careful today!