It is 9.30 and still light, although thy sky is starting to turn pink. There is a chill in the air and a feeling that another year is already over when, for me, it doesn’t seem to have begun.

I have just checked the MOT date for the car. I always get to the middle of summer and realise that I have forgotten when it is due. Fortunately it is still six weeks away, which gives me plenty of time. It’s quite useful being able to check these things on line and makes me wonder how we ever managed to run things with only a diary, a memory and a few scraps of paper.

This Wednesday I will be having a blood test, next Wednesday I have an X-Ray to check I am fit for my new medication, and the Wednesday after that I will make arrangements to get the car serviced and  for the test. I need to get it done so that I avoid it clashing with jury service. Fortunately you are able to get it done up to a month before the due date.

That is not exactly an impressive social diary is it? Blood test, X-Ray, car service, jury service . . .

Now, I think, I’m beginning to understand why older people don’t fear death. I’ve never been one of those people who worry about death, as it’s going to happen whether I worry or not, but I have wondered, in a theoretical way, whether it would become a matter of concern as I got older. It hasn’t. As every morning comes round I am just glad to find nothing else has gone wrong. By the time I’ve struggled into my increasingly awkward trousers I find my mind has cleared itself of any thoughts of mortality that may have accumulated during the night.

Of course, if you had my social life, you’d probably feel much the same.