WE'VE heard them all before but it is still fun listening to them.

The car wouldn't start (who believes that nowadays?). The roads were so busy (who doesn't believe that?). My daughter was unwell. I had to take my mother to hospital. The dentist was running slow (professional ethics and courtesy prevent me from commenting). The traffic lights were stuck at red. And so on and so on.

All the excuses that clients give for being late, for being just 10 minutes past the end of surgery time. Yes of course, we say. We understand. It happens to us all (though to some people far more often than most it would seem). Take a seat and someone will see you as soon as they can.

The receptionist sighs and begins the long, lonely, guilty march to the prep room where the veterinary and nursing staff have already begun the day's surgical procedures.

They know those footsteps well and understand exactly what they mean. The nurse relaxes, cuddling the sedated patient, which was on the point of being anaesthetised, in her arms. Her experience tells her things might be delayed a few minutes. Still, cuddles are always welcome.

The vet sees the awkward, embarrassed look on the anxious receptionist's face and opts not, this time at least, to shoot the messenger. After all, it is never her fault. Anyway, for the third time this week, our poor harassed receptionist takes another deep breath and begins.

It's Mrs X. Again. She's sorry she's late. Again. But Cuddles is being sick. Again. (What did I say about Cuddles?) The vet blinks and takes a deep breath of her own, already realising the day's plan, along with most of her lunch hour, is already ruined.

But what can you do? Inevitably, she follows the receptionist, who retraces her steps to her desk, allowing the vet to peel off to a consulting room. It has already been thoroughly cleaned after the morning consults and now that process will now have to be repeated. Again. As it so often is.

Happily, Cuddles looks the same as always; healthy, purring, calm and content. The vet sighs. Again. Because it is the same problem. Again. His badly matted coat is groomed, removing the dead hair that so often causes him to vomit a hair ball. Again. But you can never take for granted that this is the problem.

Mrs X is polite, pleasant and grateful, of course, as she always is, but, on this occasion, makes the near fatal mistake of confiding in the harassed vet that she always tries to come in at this time, as it means she gets seen so quickly. Smiling through gritted teeth, our intrepid professional makes a mental note to tell the receptionists that this is the last time that leniency will be shown. But in her heart she knows it won't be.

Oh we've heard all the excuses. The problem is, sometimes, just sometimes we know some of them are actually true.