My existential crisis was straight out the terrible twos’ playbook

Early on St Valentines Day I walked down to the car park where the raindrops were knocking off the young almond blossom petals. The slow-dropping rain was refreshing after the January drought. In the car park the red car was shining wet instead of furry with dust.

I drove for 20 minutes on a winding road through low hills, intensively cultivated since the days of Roger the Norman, but abandoned since the Grande Guerre. My destination was a commercial laboratory in the nearest town for a pre-scan blood test. On the journey I went over in my mind what Catriona had said to me the night before.

Earlier in the week it was my birthday. I’ve never been one for celebrating birthdays. A kipper for breakfast and I’m happy. A fuss embarrasses me. But Catriona is a great one for celebrating birthdays, other people’s as well as her own.