After a scary (but exhilarating) moment where I got my foot caught in my pants this morning, I decided I would check my emails. I hoped I would have something remotely interesting to look at before embarking on another mind-numbing day at the office. I pressed the button on the front of my computer and waited. And then I waited a bit longer. I just don’t understand what takes it so long to start up. What does it actually do for goodness sake?! I got bored of staring at a blank screen and it was only after a cup of tea, a bowl of Shreddies and a water of the plants that it seemed ready for me to use.

I had four emails waiting to be read.

I stared at the screen and wondered if this was as exciting as it would ever get for me. Even before opening them I could see there was only one vaguely interesting email – my monthly thimble newsletter. I hit the print button. At least I would have something to do at lunch time.

The other three were far less exciting; the first from Nick and Sally, our oh-so-lovely friends. It could only have been about the stupid dressing table they’ve been trying to give us for the last year. Without even opening it I pressed print – I am sure Joan would enjoy coughing over that sometime later.

The next was a big colourful advert from a company trying to sell me Viagra - or at least I think that’s what their intention was. It was either that or they were telling me that they thought I was in fact a penis myself - when will people learn that “you’re” means “you are”?! I hit the delete key.

It was nearly time to leave for work but I opened the last email believing I would hit the delete key as quickly as I had before. There were neither colourful flashing banners nor any pictures of the male reproductive organs but a small bit of text in the top-left which read:

“Your mother is being held captive”

Oddly, my first thought was about how glad I felt that whoever had written me this wonderfully rubbish message was at least better educated than the people working for the Viagra company – the spelling of “your” being the one intended.

It was clearly nonsense. It was made-up. My mother couldn’t be a hostage; I mean what would anyone want to hold my 85 year old mother captive for? I hit the delete key. But before I got up I had a pang of guilt. What if, somehow, for some reason my mother was being held captive – I would never forgive myself if I just ignored it and then found out later something dreadful had happened,

It was already late though, I didn’t have time to phone my mother. She always talks and talks and frankly, I avoid speaking to her. I couldn’t be late for work today – it was my presentation - it would not look good if I turned up late. I questioned the email again. My mother can’t be being held captive. How would the captor have my email address? And why would they want to tell me anyway? And what if I hadn’t chosen to check email this morning?!

But I had checked my email this morning. I had checked email and I got an email from my mother’s possible captor – I reluctantly decided I had to phone my mother.

The phone rang, and rang and eventually….

“Hello, the Summer’s residence”

Brilliant.

“Hello mother”