When you’re a kid, there are various (usually medical) things which you observe that only old people use.

Last week, after sixty-five years, I had to buy corn plasters.  As a child, I was aware of aging relatives using them.  My question is, will I be using medical aids I’d witnessed in my Balham flat in the ‘60s?

Perhaps I’ll start dabbing myself with 4711 Eau de Cologne; I may start protecting my clothes with mothballs or begin sucking cloves for toothache (one of the few things not mentioned by the witches in Macbeth)?

I wonder if the bottles of Kaolin & Morphine; Milk of Magnesia and Friar’s Balsam I currently have in my loft are past their sell-by date?

Obviously, medicine has progressed over the past sixty-years, the doctor no longer visits with a black bag, but can give you a password for a Zoom call.

One thing is for certain, I won’t be creating my own laxatives.  I had a great aunt who lived in our flats.  Once she invited me into her bedroom as she was getting ready to go to work.  Aside from the overriding smell of peroxide, on her bedside table was a cup, full of brown water, in which floated several actual rotting senna pods.  The mere sight of these sent me rushing to her toilet.  I guess they worked.

Pass the smelling salts, please.