AS I was lying in my hospital bed in the M.R.I. in early January I realised I had to write something about this experience. Not about what a big operation I just had; though you should see the scar, a long horizontal from one inch above my belly button right round to my side. Nor about the bizarre wonders of modern surgery; when they took the bandage off I was horrified; "staples, 34 ******* staples, did you get them from Staples?"

"Shut up Tony," said doctor Steve, "only the very finest titanium for you."

And then there's the way they remove said staples. Yes, it's a hand held gizmo like the one that removes staples from papers. Thought you should know.

But it wasn't these stories of modern science I wanted to relate. I wanted to write a love letter to the NHS.

Yes, that much debated, much moaned about and always criticised thing called the National Health Service.

As my mother, a Daily Express-reading dyed in the wool conservative used to say (her devout Catholicism could not be submerged) the NHS is the greatest glory of this Nation. And it was and it still is.

Hope

I am proud to recall that on my last day presenting BBC North West's Politics show, two weeks before Christmas, I chaired a mini debate between an MP and GP on the subject of the NHS. When the show was over and as we were leaving the studio, I commented to these two gentlemen, "strange how everyone has a complaint about the NHS except for people who actually use it; when you actually come face to face with its care and concern, it is little short of wonderful."

I was thinking of how dear old Hope had looked after my dad in his final days; little did I think that two weeks later I would be marvelling at that care and concern myself.

It isn't just the skill and dedication of all the NHS staff; it is the simple and constant delivery of kindness, from the nurses and nursing assistants on the ward. It is shockingly wonderful and I know that for all the bad headlines the NHS gets, this is the prime experience of those who get ill and actually use the NHS.

'Wonderful people'

Lying in bed after my "radical nephrectomy" I found myself humming that old Leonard Cohen classic, "The Sisters of Mercy"; I'm sure he didn't write it about the team on ward 7 but if I can get to him (we are kind of old friends) before he plays Manchester on this year's world tour I will try to get him to dedicate it to the wonderful people who looked after me so well.

Carmen, and Emma and Emily and then the other Emma and Michaela and Beryl, and so many, many people to say such a thank you too. Kam who frequently did the night shift on my ward. Most nights I would wake up with a night fever having sweated so much my gown and sheets were soaked with what by then was cold water. All it takes is a press on that "Please Help Me" button and within minutes they would have me in changed sheets and gown, dry and comfortable, feeling like a new person. Feeling infinitely grateful.

And then there's the other lot, the doctors who have helped me through all of this.