In 1981 the late actor David Niven wrote a novel, Go Slowly, Come Back Quickly. I recalled the book a couple of days ago as I bade farewell to the month of February, wishing it to go quickly and come back slowly. It had promised to be such a happy month, scattered as it was with family birthdays and anniversaries, but things unravelled fairly quickly from the time I turned up for a routine blood test - the type the doctor sends you on after you reach what they think is the geriatric stage of your life.
Nurse Dracula couldn't get blood out of the vein in my arm, but after a lot of poking and prodding, she finally got her fill. Meanwhile I was doing one of those inside-your-head screams. Within a day my arm looked as though it had been stamped on by a horse. Hisself and I joked that the neighbours would think there had been a little bit of a domestic going on in Chez Fudge.