Sleepless, but dreamful was how last night turned out, and unusually the dreams didn’t fade but stayed remarkably clear. And now you’re groaning at the thought that this could turn into a recitation of nocturnal fantasies, a sort of sub-standard Ancient Mariner who “stoppeth one of three” and goes on about the folly of shooting an albatross. Promise: no albatrosses were killed or injured in the course of writing this column.
It’s 18 years since I found out that I was diabetic; I don’t know how many years I’d been walking around with the condition not knowing it was there. I discovered it by accident.