I remember when I was a kid that time mattered. Really mattered.

"Hurry up and eat your dinner" meant "Time you cleared off to bed"

Which meant stretching out time to infinite proportions. Bet none of you could have beaten me in the challenge to delay dinner by dissecting peas with Heart Consultant precision, so that they could be eaten an eighth at a time.

Anyway, this morning I had to resort to such time-stretching tactics again. Despite entreaties to 'hurry or you'll be late' I manage to delay coming downstairs until my tea was just the right temperature and the OH had finished his toast and was thus free to make mine.

Because this morning was check-up day and I was full of worry about flossed teeth and what to wear for a physio appointment.

First the dentist, where despite my worries and memories of the volume of sweets I had eaten recently, the magic words 'no problems and see you in six months' saw me in and out of the door in ten minutes flat.

Then the physio to find out what the problem is with my left knee and the right-hand side of my back - and instead of being told it was age and I couldn't expect much else, I heard the magic words "we can repair you" and "my, aren't you flexible".

And so I'm home, celebrating with a Chelsea Bun and coffee, and the only worry I now still have is whether I was wearing the right sort of pants.