LIZ JONES: This feels personal… the news that Kate is in hospital has hit me like a young member of my family has been struck down
Wasn't the Princess of Wales like a brightly flickering candle at Christmas when she hosted her annual carol concert at Westminster Abbey?
She is the person we would all like to have in our family at special gatherings: cheerful, unflappable, beautifully made up, great with the little ones, willing to muck in, clear plates and throw away wrapping paper, play the diplomat in family disputes.
Just the sight of her, anywhere – slender and elegant in wicker, shiny conker hair, always, always smiling – makes the world more beautiful, better, easier and navigable.
Wednesday afternoon the news that she has been admitted to hospital – possibly for two whole weeks! – shivers ran down my spine. And then the revelation that she is unlikely to resume her public duties until after Easter!
The sight of the Princess of Wales (pictured on Christmas Day last year) – slim and elegant, glossy conker hair, always smiling – makes the world more beautiful, better, easier and navigable, writes Liz Jones
Police officers stand guard outside the hospital, the London Clinic, where Kate is currently being treated
January suddenly seems endlessly long and much grayer than before. I was walking my dogs and saw a young woman stop, staring at her phone, her mittens shooting up to her mouth. I asked if everything was okay.
“It's Kate, she's in the hospital!” Everyone within earshot rummaged through pockets to find phones and stood there staring.
It was not unexpected news for the king to hear that he has prostate problems. But Catherine? I have a niece just like her: Sophie is 40, serene, beautiful, had children when she was young. I had to text her when I heard the news about Kate, just to make sure she was okay.
The news about Catherine made me want to give Sophie a hug. We shouldn't take anyone for granted.
The shock that Catherine could be out of action for months is in no way equivalent to the loss of Diana, but there is that same sense of dread that when another bright light goes out, the world will seem very dark indeed.
Yesterday's news reminds us that Catherine is not infallible, made of steel. It's not true that nothing affects her.
It reminds us that life is precious. I lost my sister, Carolyn, two weeks before Christmas and wished I had seen her more often: we always laughed growing up.
She was achingly beautiful, had two sons and worked in the intensive care unit of the hospital where Kate is now.
Come on, Lynnie, give Kate a virtual hug from all of us. We are glued to the news, looking for clues.
And Catherine? She'll be so mad at herself for making us all so worried.