As snappy slogans suitable to be emblazoned on t-shirts go, ‘A normal life’ clearly doesn’t rank anywhere near, say, ‘Live fast, die young’, but when it’s your doctor saying those words to you on a Monday morning, they can still sound pretty exhilarating.

I’ve just had one of those medical MOT, all-round check-up things that we all should have a bit more often and, after rubbing his chin a lot and sighing rather disconcertingly more than I thought was strictly necessary, the doc eventually got around to telling me that, according to the three pages of unintelligible words and numbers scattered on his desk, all is well in Health City. Wahaay!

Not so fast. There’s clearly a great big heffalump in the room where these things are concerned: none of us can ever be privy as to when our old chum the Grim Reaper might come ghosting in on the blindside and, let’s face it, when he does it will be no use trying to parry the swipes of his glistening scythe with a rolled-up bit of paper detailing an excellent haemoglobin count and optimum cholesterol levels.

Nonetheless, little victories like these are undoubtedly something to be savoured and so - when no-one was looking - I afforded myself one of those mid-air heel clicks beloved of all the best cartoon characters, just about resisted the urge to quaff a couple of beers in celebration (it was 10am after all, darn it) and toddled off home to record a bit of inconsequential music for no particular reason.

Throughout the following days, the doctor’s parting words as he handed me the papers - ‘a normal life’ - kept playing on a loop in my head. Such a dull yet glorious phrase. How many people on the planet - both past and present - wouldn’t have traded almost anything to receive such a blessing?

The trick is, of course, to keep that perspective on the boil as we negotiate the minutiae of our everyday lives. Someone has just pushed in ahead of me in the supermarket checkout queue? Pah! I’m lucky to be in a supermarket. Chips not quite the right temperature with my succulent steak? Oh, stop whingeing, you ungrateful buffoon! And so on.

Anyway, I’m off to bring the washing in. Life doesn’t get any more normal than that and, Lord knows, I’m grateful.

For now.

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