I appear to be afflicted with something which must be sciatica – a shooting pain where the legs join whatever that largish bone with two holes in it is called. Whenever I walk at a reasonable speed, even over long distances, there’s no problem but, when I’m down to window-browsing or shoplifting velocity, I ache uncomfortably. Time, probably, to pay another visit to the doctor. Of course, he’ll say there’s no real cure except time, paracetamol, and, perhaps, rest, but at least I can get him to refer me to some specialist. Of course, he in turn will say the same and maybe poke a little, but the upside is that he’ll be saying and poking courtesy of BUPA. I’m now paying more than £60 a month to that outfit, and I want to get my money’s worth.

Talking of shoplifting, I’m nearly out of Gillette razor blades. I’ll prevail upon my professional thief friend, Nicky "Fingers", to go to the supermarket next week and nick me 20 of the things. I refuse, on principle, to pay the ridiculous prices they currently charge for what’s no more than a sliver of metal set in plastic. The supermarkets expect a certain amount of thievery, anyhow – they call such losses “shrinkage” and actually factor them into their prices. This being the case, I would be failing in my duty not to oblige their accounting departments.

Ho, hum …….