I am at that age, not only when I say, “I am at that age” more frequently than I used to, but also get priority with flu jab vaccinations.

Like most people, you can go to your GP or your local chemist.  My local chemist is called “Ricky’s”.  This filled me with an element of trepidation.  “Ricky’s” does not sound like a chemist; it sounds more like a 1950s coffee establishment, a scaffolding firm or something shouted, in anger, on the set of Eastenders.

I was, as I sat waiting for my name to be called out, disappointed that no-one had furnished me a frothy coffee (with Rock around the clock playing in the background); offered to re-lay my roof tiles or looked like Dirty Den.

Growing up on Balham High Road in the sixties there was an independent chemist.  It was not called Ricky’s.  It was a tiny shop and I went in there twice a year to buy my Nan Bronnley bath cubes.  Looking back, this was quite pointless as my Nan never used her bath.

The shop smelled of a mixture of lavender; ether and smelling salts.   So, they could put you to sleep, wake you up and comfort you – all within the same visit.   I loved that shop and for years had 4711 as my pin code.  And you never left the shop with your arm aching – unless you’d been cheeky and the assistant punched you.  Pethidine anyone?