There are certain benefits of being very old. I now get free prescriptions, I get discounts on the train and best of all, I get reduced cinema prices, where I am also given tea and a biscuit. All that’s required next is for me to abandon my jeans and exchange them for slacks, to stop wearing trainers and buy some Hush Puppies and to get rid of my hoodies and invest in some cardigans. I’ve already got slippers. I am well prepared for this stuff.

What I was not prepared for today was a hangover that refuses to go away, other than very slowly. In the heyday of my youth, I could go out on Friday night, come back rolling drunk, get up to watch TISWAS on telly and still recover in time to play football. I doubt that I could manage crazy golf this morning.

Yesterday was exceptional, though. I was at the Rovers earlier than usual for the tribute to our late chairman Geoff Dunford. This meant the obligatory consumption of Thatcher’s Cider. After the game and – yes, you guessed – it was time for more cider, then some beer and finally some red wine at the excellent Casa Mexicana on Zetland Road where I ate industrial portions of Jalapeños, interspersed occasionally with food. Let us not go into specific details this morning. Suffice to say, I am not exactly at the top of my game.

The one saving grace is that I did not move on to the Metaxa when we got home. My son, on a recent trip to Madrid (yes, you read it right), returned with five litres of 7 star and kindly gave us a couple of bottles. Metaxa never lasts long in our house, given my preference for a “night cap” at the end of a long evening doing nothing. I was so “tired” last night, the thought did not even cross my mind. If it had, I doubt very much whether I would have even got up today!

I mentioned the benefits of being very old but there are many downsides, too. Even after a round of golf I ache for days afterwards. Bending to get something out of a cupboard takes an age and requires a cushion for me to put my knees on. And every football injury I ever had has come back to haunt me with a vengeance. That fractured ankle, the Bennett’s fracture dislocation (where my thumb came adrift from my hand) and the cracked vertebraes after a painful tackle. They are only going to ache more as the years go by!

Anyway, that’s enough self-pitying for one morning. I am going to stagger to the coffee percolator as soon as I get the energy. What a sorry state of affairs!