In 1999 I went to the doctor about the impotence. Don’t worry, he said. I have good news for you. He prescribed a new drug called Viagra to get me over the psychological hump. It worked; spectacularly. In 2001 I went to the doctor mumbling about depression. Don’t worry, he said. I have good news for you. He prescribed a new drug called Prozac to lift me out of it. Within three months I was back on the poop deck of this ship of fools with the wind in my hair and salt spray on my face. In 2013 I went to the doctor because I couldn’t pee. A blood test showed I had cancer. Don’t worry, he said. I have good news for you. These days we have so many effective new drugs against cancer, it might not kill you. Three years later it still hasn’t. All my adult life I’ve been surfing the breaking crest of a wave of pharmaceutical innovation.
Now I think I’m going senile. Here’s how. At the gym I go to in France they are fussy about personal hygiene. Judging by the disdainful looks I was getting from the attendant last week, he didn’t approve of my ‘Enjoy Coke’ T-shirt. He had a point. It was worn to a rag. I had noticed T-shirts with the gym logo on sale at a very reasonable price in a glass cabinet by the entrance, and decided to cheer the attendant up by buying a couple. So I went to my locker, took off my ‘Enjoy Coke’ T-shirt, bunged it in the bin, then rummaged in my backpack and found the little plastic sleeve I use for a wallet. In it were two notes: a €100 note and a 50. I took the 50 to the attendant and said I would like to buy a couple of your company T-shirts, s’il vous plaît.
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