When we moved to Cheshire, I had to register with a new medical practice and I was asked to attend recently for a diabetic review (I have Type 2). The nurse was pleased with the way I was progressing to the extent that she reduced the dosage of one of my medications.

I remember when I was first prescribed diabetic medication to add to all the others I was taking; at that time, blood sugar – slightly up; cholesterol – slightly up; kidney function – very good indeed, actually; liver function – quite acceptable (ahem); blood pressure – slightly up; weight – one at a time on the scale, please.

My old medical centre (particularly the Sister who runs the Diabetes Clinic) is most assiduous in the care of patients with the condition and I have nothing but the highest praise for everyone there (I know nearly all of them by name and they of course know and love me). After all, one of the practice nurses used to handle my bare feet, sloshing blue gel all over them and pushing a pen-like instrument around that amplifies the sound of the pulses; sadly, it drowned out the classical music being piped into the treatment room but all was OK and, although not 100% kicking, I am apparently alive. And I was able to put my socks back on all by myself.

One of the new medications was called Simvastatin – another tablet – and the label stuck on the box contains the dosage instruction: “Take ONE at night, avoid grapefruit.” Having never been attacked by anyone wielding that particular fruit, I am now on constant alert after taking one of the tablets in case some conscientious objector to statins chucks one at me.

D’you reckon I’m being over-cautious?