AS Sophie Wessex tottered gingerly from her hospital bed to go home after losing her baby, you'd have to have a heart of stone not to spare her a sympathetic thought.

But she might have done us all a favour. Apart from her husband and her parents, she had virtually no visitors. Isn't that blissful?

Yes, I know. If you're in hospital for a long haul then there's nothing like a steady supply of friends with flowers, magazines, juicy grapes and juicy gossip, to make the time pass pleasantly. But not always.

There are times when you feel utterly wretched, desperately vulnerable, tied up with tubes and drips or just horribly pathetic and weepy, when the absolutely last thing you want to do is to make polite conversation with someone. All you want is a clean nightie and maybe a hand to hold.

And if you've been awake all night in pain, you can guarantee that, just as you finally get warm and comfy, and doped up and ready to slip down and have a nice little snooze.... it will be visiting time.

Even worse are everybody else's visitors.

The last time I was in hospital, the woman opposite me had one of those strident uppercrust voices designed to carry for miles cross the ancestral acres. So did all her family. Various of them arrived at 10am, and the last one finally left, with a cheerful farewell bellow, nearly eleven hours later. I couldn't stand it. I honestly thought it was going to drive me into madness, if not murder.

"Get me out," I pleaded, wild-eyed, with my family. "I'm too ill to cope with this!"

And that's the trouble. We are in hospital because we are ill. We shouldn't have to remember our party manners all the time.

Years ago, visiting hour was literally that. The rest of the time the work of the hospital went on, uncluttered by extra bodies with their noise and dirt and germs, and patients could just lie there and be ill, without any extra stresses. It was often a lot easier.

Some of the rise in the use of private medicine is surely not just because of the speed - but the fact that you get a room on your own in generally much quieter hospitals. It helps.

Of course children need open visiting - apart from anything else, mothers tend to do a lot of the nursing, but the rest of us could do with a lot less.

We might be a bit lonely a bit more often - but it would be a lot more restful. And if it's good enough for the Royals.

THE most depressing advert at the moment is that one with a child turning a cardboard box into all sorts of interesting things and then abandoning it to look at what came in it - an interactive TV. At which point the heart, so briefly lifted, sinks again.

If you get lots of things - including interactive televisions - in big cardboard boxes this Christmas, then hang onto those boxes. Otherwise, what will the children play with in a power cut?

SOME new flats up for sale in Guisborough - at the traffic lights, where the Moorcock used to be - advertise the usual attractions, fitted kitchens, wardrobes etc, but then adds another, "Enviable lifestyle".

Enviable lifestyle? Are they throwing in a millionaire boyfriend, tables at top restaurants, first class travel, free hairdressers and the loan of yachts and Tuscan villas?

And if not, perhaps they can tell us just what this "enviable lifestyle" is that you buy with your flat, apart, perhaps, from a view of the traffic lights.

MEANWHILE, there's a yoghurt that's advertised as "The yoghurt that loves you back."

I see. Advertisers are after sad cases who failed in their relationships with people, dogs, cats and even goldfish and stick insects, and now rely on a pot of treated milk to make their lives worthwhile.

A yoghurt - and an ad - for losers, I think.

MORE women are suffering from cirrhosis of the liver, as a result of drinking too much, too often, too young says a new report.

Following recent correspondence on this page, all we can do is try and keep them sober until they're older. At current rates, 15 would be an improvement.

I used to drink a lot. We all did. Then something happened, pregnancy maybe, buying a car maybe. Or perhaps I just grew up. Boring. But at least now I can remember who I insulted the night before. Always useful - especially with the party season coming up. Most disturbing is that youngsters don't seem to get drunk just as a by-product of drinking too much and enjoying the booze, if you see what I mean. No, they seem to set out with the sole intention and purpose of getting smashed out of their skulls. And whatever does that most quickly and effectively will do.

The latest idea is for health warnings on bottles. Fat lot of good that will do. Much more effective would be a warning which says: "Too much drink turns you into a complete idiot, likely to fall into bed with the first bloke who asks you - even if he's smelly, spotty, doesn't clean his teeth and wears nylon socks. And what's more, he'll still be there in the morning........"

That might just do it.

Meanwhile, thanks to Barbara Middlemiss for sending me an e-mail chain letter on the subject of drink driving. It's an absolute tear-jerker, but does make a point, so if anyone wants it, just let me know.

THREE days after having her first baby, Lord of the Rings star, Cate Blanchett was pictured out doing her grocery shopping. She's mad. I did exactly the same thing, battled round Morrisson's in Darlington, I seem to remember, filled a trolleyload, drove home, collapsed on the sofa and promptly came down with an infection. I hope that' s not the reason Cate missed the preview for Lord of the Rings.

The one time in a woman's life when she can expect to be looked after is in the few precious days after giving birth. Once you're back on your feet, you'll spend the rest of your life looking after children, husband, family and job.

So leave the shopping to someone else Cate, and make the most of having a rest. It could be the last chance you have for about 20 years.

HOW many artists does it take to change a light bulb?

Two - one to make sure the connection's loose and the other to collect the £20,000 Turner prize.