Run, Fat Boy, Run
In eighteen days time I'll reach the grand old age of 55. I'm quite looking forward to it. When my friend the young Master Spiegel and I are playing bingo there are some numbers we feel have quite a good ring to them, and I think 55 is just such a number. Rounded, symmetrical, and adding up to a perfect 10. It seems that other people are also aware of my approaching age. These days it's remarkable where our personal data is stored and offers and e-mails based on my approaching birthday have now flooded my junk mailbox. One such invitation delivered by hand by the arcane method of Mr Postie was an invitation from the NHS to have a health check. Evidently I'm at that age when it's thought to be a good idea. The word that attracted me on the flyer was “free". To avail myself of a health check I could visit one of several local pharmacies or my GP. Now given that our GPs practice has the organisational ability of a plate of jellied eels, several doc...