I’ve had to say some painful goodbyes this month. First, my GP retired. I’ll miss my annual check-ups with him: ‘Your blood pressure’s slightly high, your alcohol consumption is above the recommended guidelines and your cholesterol is borderline. Still cycling six hours a week? Fine, I’ll see you in a year.’
His down-to-earth fatalism was weirdly reassuring: ‘Sure, you could pay £500 for a private body scan and be given the all-clear today. But what about tomorrow?’