Just recently, I seem to have taken a few unpredictable tumbles in the street. Once, simply hurrying across a main road while the traffic lights were at red (fortunately), several times catching my foot on uneven paving stones, most recently on a slightly cobbled slope that I've managed to step up without trouble more or less every week for ten years. The odd thing is, it reminds me that at about the same age my mother was doing exactly the same thing. We'd be walking along quite normally and she'd suddenly be sprawling at our feet (mind you, she had another thirty years of a busy life ahead of her).
Which brings on a fit of wondering which of the minor incidents of life are just that, and which are symptomatic of, well,.... you know... [whisper] getting on a bit?
That name that seems to have wandered from the tip of my tongue to some dark recess in the back of my mind: could it be - Alzheimer?
That strange crick in my neck of a morning: does that mean I need a new pillow, or is some muscle wasting away or some joint wearing out?
Which is the greater sign of ageing - all those physical changes or simply the fact of worrying about them?
But perhaps I shouldn't stay for an answer and just get back to the gym, as I've been meaning to for weeks. Once the latest set of grazes has healed up, of course. Till then, tea and cake, I think.