Following the Aston Martin shoot, whilst on assignment in South Africa, I walked from my sumptuous hotel room to the bar over a darkened quadrangle where I stepped heavily onto a wobbly drain, did a series of graceless pirouettes, spun across the leafy square and smacked face-first into a marble column and, after teetering theatrically for a moment, fell forward and bashed my kneecap on the edge of a step. Over the course of the next few days my lower leg changed colour and became swollen to the point where I could not wear jeans. Oozing into a wet-suit when shark cage diving was another painful trial but I suffered for my art.

It's two months on and only now is my lower leg starting to look normal. But for a while now I've been getting hot flushes – in my leg. Of course, I Google'd it and now know I have bone cancer. So I decided to do nothing to confirm my suspicions. I figure it's better to wake up dead one morning than go to the doctor and be told when that morning might be.

So here I sit, glumly sipping my designer water knowing that the only exercise I'll be getting for a while is chewing food and typing. "And jumping to conclusions," my husband added helpfully.