I’m champion at worrying. I think I learned it from my mother. This time last year I was in a stew about making a speech to the Loriners. Now, non-swank, I am a Freeman Loriner; a privilege not dependent upon being a fluent public speaker, fortunately.
I actually worry about my worrying – it’s an irrational emotion. Anyway I have something new to worry abut now but if you are a real worrier you can only worry about one thing at a time. So on Saturday night I hardly slept worrying if I’d wake up in time for a 5.20 am taxi to Gatwick. I did and now I’m here.
Robert’s playing tennis and I’m going to walk and report. It will take my mind off my main worry which will be resolved by the end of this month.
I used to worry.
Now, at the age of 92, I don’t give a damn. The world can go to Hell in a handcart and is obviously doing so.
So Christopher, you will grow out of it. Stop worrying!
Henry