As I stood slathering on my night cream before bed, a strange thought crossed my mind. The phrase “It’s all good” flashed up, seemingly from nowhere. What’s good? My life, I suppose. I realise that I’m in a good place. I have everything I want in life: family, friends, freedom, a job I enjoy, community, a sense of giving something back, enough money, my health. I want for nothing. Sure there are things I’d like to do or achieve: visit Whitstable, get fit, finish the cardigan I started last December. But in the grand scheme of things, these are small fry. I’m blessed to have everything I’ve ever wanted. Maybe that’s why other strange thoughts have been coming to mind a lot recently, thoughts about my own death. The other night, just as I slid under my duvet, I felt that if I died right at that moment then I’d die happy. I’ve also experienced a nagging sense of wanting to sort out arrangements for after I die (I want my body to go to medical science). Maybe my sub-conscious is trying to tell me something. Or maybe it’s the ultimate act of self-sabotage, thinking that one can’t possibly be this level of contentment must be followed by something bad. Noone is allowed to be this happy without being punished for it.