A few months ago, I met my friend in the pub next to the station. I hadn’t seen him for a year, which is normal. With the arrival of wives, then kids, then moves out to the commuter belt “for an extra bedroom”, the frequency at which I see most of my oldest friends has decreased steadily over the past 20 years. Once or twice a year is enough. It’s not like there’s ever much to catch up on.
Over two pints — “Got to be back for bedtime stories” — we went through the motions. Work? Fine. Home? Fine. Commute? Fine. Then came the news. “Of course, there’s the heart condition,” he said.
“The what?”
“I thought it was just stress, but I had
