I’m tired. Horribly tired. Not coping. Don’t know how I’m managing to do anything. Having anxiety dreams. Depressed. Very depressed. Despite the anti-depressants. And it isn’t even winter when I know I do struggle. I don’t know why. Noreen says I’m doing too much; I’m always doing things which are “duty” and that I haven’t had a break in weeks. I guess she’s right, what with work, the Anthony Powell Society, sorting my father’s estate, and the trust, and my mother’s tax, and …

… and this weekend a very close friend died; the other end of the country. Well Victor was 82; he had heart problems and Parkinson’s; was old enough to be my father; and was my best man all those years ago. Although we talked only infrequently, I shall miss Victor; he was the nearest person I knew, probably ever will know, to being a true polymath. So now I must give time not just to his funeral (and that may mean taking the funeral service) but to his estate, because I am one of his executors, and I promised. (Oh and just as I did for his wife when she died a couple of years ago.)

But all I am doing is things which I have committed to do; it’s not as if I’m taking on anything new; but I still can’t keep up. At 56 I’m working harder than ever before, at a time when the system is no longer full of it’s youthful vigour – we none of us can do at 56 what we could at 26, leave alone at 16; simple biology.

So it’s no wonder I never get a break and I’m tired and depressed. And as Noreen also tells me I don’t spend any time “playing” – by which she means doing what I want to do, when I want to. How can I; there’s no time!

What’s the answer? A big lottery win so I can afford to retire? Sounds good. If only!