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How the arches have fallen

 

One of the many annoying things about getting older is that all the things my father told me would catch up to me, catch up to me. Parts of my body that up until now have never been a problem have  begun to ache, tighten, hurt or just no longer function properly. My poor old back is torn to bits after too many years of physical abuse with no stretching or proper exercise and my feet kill me, especially in the morning when I leap out of bed like a young gazelle, as one does, those first few steps, the pain is horrible. He had a very annoying habit of usually being right, bless him.

 

It has to be said that I have never led a particularly healthy lifestyle, I eat vegetables and fruit but the veggies usually come with cheese sauce and a big slab of dead animal and the fruit usually comes in a glass with vodka or gin or rum or something nice like that. Smoking has been one of several hobbies that began in my childhood and still helps to calm the nerves, pass the time and make me look sophisticated standing outside bars.

 

That being said I do seem to have been blessed with reasonable good health. I recently went for a check-up for life insurance, to see if I was a safe bet or not. I walked in feeling a tad nervous, I generally don’t go to doctors, I can’t help thinking they aren’t quite as confident as they like to pretend they are. Anyway, after an overly thorough examination the good doctor told me I’d get the results in a couple of weeks and left. Not only did he not give me the prognosis there and then but he also stuck his finger in a very odd place, so I went home with the strange feeling I’d been interfered with and slightly disappointed at the same time.

 

After three weeks to worry about it my dearly beloved had convinced me I had just about every malady known to man and possibly one or two new ones. Mercifully the only problem was a slight iron deficiency which I put down to a lack of Guinness in my diet, and set out to remedy the situation forthwith.