Our local supermarket carpark is a holy place where miracles happen on a regular basis.

There is a row of parking spaces reserved for disabled parking. Yesterday, when I arrived and was walking across to the store entrance, at least three cars appeared and parked in the appropriate disabled bays.

And behold, when the drivers and passengers alighted, all of them were miraculously cured of their afflictions.

Not one needed a mobility scooter, a wheelchair, walking frame or even a stick or a pair of crutches. It was a blessed miracle. All were cured and healthy.

And, as a bonus, every trace of consideration for others and respect had been erased. They had become normal, healthy, self-centred modern humans.

Lord be praised.

Now, this may seem a little sour and pessimistic. Well, it is.

My lower back is killing me and my arthritic right knee is playing up something horrible.

The point is this: long-term pain is a major downer. The physical side of it is not so bad, you get used to it, inasmuch as you can ever get used to walking along with someone behind you whacking you across the lower back with a baseball bat every five paces. The real insidious problem is the way it drags at  your outlook on life.

I cannot think of a word which sums it up. “Miserable”, “pessimistic”, “negative” don’t really do it justice. They exaggerate some things and underplay others. “Down” is the only term that comes near. You try very hard not to give in to either the physical or mental and emotional side of it, but every now and then, really nasty thoughts creep into the corners of your mind and sit there sneering at your efforts to carry on.

I don’t think I have it too bad. It is not a major problem for me, I am sure there are plenty out there for whom every breath and every step is a battle and they know they will not win.

So, next time you see a GOF being about as jolly as a tax demand, please remember, they may be trying to make the best of a very bad job.

I’ll shut up now and take some more painkillers.