A most alarming thing happened the other day. I woke up in the morning, leapt with my customary gay abandon from the marital bed and headed for the bathroom. There, as it is my wont, I took stock of myself. Sure enough: stocky as ever. Everything in fact, on the surface at any rate, was as much the same state it had been the night before; reassuring testimony to the fact I have thus far treated my body, not as a temple, but as an amusement park.

Hang on. It became apparent, as my eyes surveyed the not inconsiderable contours of my body downwards from top to toe, that something was awry. What could it be? I looked again. Alors! I had aged. Overnight, just like that, everything just went squishy and out of focus. Boundaries between various features became disputed border areas. Noses flopped and cheeks sagged and chins wobbled, that sort of thing. I was just about to really panic when I realised I wasn't wearing my glasses - amazing what a pair of glasses can do!