On returning home yesterday, I found that the NHS had written to me.

I always considered myself to be very fortunate in terms of my body’s durability. I’ve never had a serious illness and have demonstrated my ability to bounce, rather than break, on many occasions. And those latter episodes were mostly the result of carelessness, or clumsiness, on my part.

My recent blood pressure scare is already fading into the past. Admittedly, I do have medication, but a very low dose, and I’m hoping it’s a temporary measure. I now have the healthiest diet ever, although (since my liver is officially in excellent condition) I have not reduced my beer consumption (well, I don’t drink cheap rubbish, so every glass contains important nutrients).

I’m currently sitting in Dat Bar, with a pint of Allendale APA. My second in command is shopping and, as she’d confess, she shops better alone. For dresses, that is.

On the down side, I’m only here because I have a stupid, irrational fear of all things dental. And, so, I took the day off because I had a root canal filling this morning. My dentist was great; I didn’t feel a thing (though my imagination was painful).

But I’ve come to the realisation that I’m now of an age when things start to break. Ugh.