“Are you depressed?”

I was sitting quietly, reading the papers, smoking my first pipe of the day and supping my first mug of tea when Herself piped up. Her question came as a complete surprise. Without really thinking I replied “Not at all. Should I be?” before realising what her logic was. I had received news that could potentially have a major impact on my future and I should be dwelling on it.

For quite a while now I have been aware of ageing and all its glorious little side effects. My suspension is shot altogether and creaks and groans over every bump; my differential is making funny noises; my tappets are fucked; my steering has become very erratic and my wing mirrors broke off a long time ago. And my radiator leaks sometimes. Rust is running rampant throughout so if my headlights are going a bit dim then it comes as little surprise. I had received the news with equanimity but it hadn’t occurred to me that Herself would fret. And fret she did.

I should start by saying that my vision is fine. They actually tested me with their fancy little letter charts and I had no bother even down to the bottom lines. Now that they have planted the seed of doubt I have noticed one or two little weirdities – reading a book I notice that a few of the printed letters have become strangely blurred in my peripheral vision and sometimes I have to blink to see the letter I’m looking at but that’s all. It aint the end of the world.

I am an irritating optimist. I know it irritates Herself the odd time as virtually every problem is met with a simple “it’ll be fine”. Usually it is, so I have learned not to worry about things. The odd time something gives me pause for thought. My little heart “event” stopped me in my tracks for a while [I played it down in the hospital at the time and the doctor firmly told me “you do realise you have had a full blown heart attack?!]. It still crosses my mind from time to time but I’m not going to get neurotic about it. The same applies to my vision.

So life will continue as normal. I have been given compound drops to put in every night [and I have to keep ’em in the fridge which is bloody inconvenient] and shall try and keep my appointment in the summer. The only thought that crossed my mind is that I had better concentrate on getting my memoirs written before it’s too late.

Incidentally [and on a completely different topic] I received a parcel yesterday – it was the replacement glass chimney for my oil lamp. It was buried under about five inches of shrink-wrap, bubble-wrap and cardboard and was a bitch to open.

At least it was unbroken and lacking in any blemishes.

It was the wrong size.