In my head, I am a dancer. I can complete a spin into a perfect Arabesque, the standing leg bent at the knee, in a plié, taking an attitude like a spiv in a cocked trilby, and the trailing one straight as a cane. I can dart joyously across a festival stage and, close to the wings, drop victoriously to my knees, then leap to my feet on the last beat of the bar and moonwalk back to centre-stage, and for that moment, that magnificent nanosecond in a lifetime of movement, this Ballerino, this danseur, is King of the world, master of the rhythm and utterly fulfilled.

In my head, I am the running man. No hill is too steep, no climb too rough for these feet to feel defeated; onward and upward, all the way: King of the hill, master of the walk.

In my head, I cycle the country lanes alone, solitary, capturing the breath of songbirds in one hand waving free. And, here, I shift gear to tackle the downhill sweep at the bottom of Seven Forms Hill, taking it without halting, fearless as I pick up speed and rock and roll on: King of the road, master of the cycle.

In my head, I can walk well on uneven ground, rush for the check-in at airports, fix the slipped roof slate up a 20 foot ladder and carry my stones like Adonis.

In my heart, I have faith, and that’s good enough really.

When we buried dear Roy Filby last week, I understood something so basic  (a truism that I had missed all my life so far) that I wrote it to my son, probably for therapeutic relief: our life-long Church Warden had gone with a fatal, completely unexpected heart-attack, and the Norman parish church was heaving with good, sincere country people who knew him well (some for all of his 80 years) and who respected the gentleman (Mr Filby to many even to his dying day). He was a plain man (probably didn’t have a passport even); kind and humorous, and dedicated to the duty of seeing to others’ needs. There will be a big hole around here for some time to come, particularly in church. To be so unassuming and modest and yet so immensely valued: how Charismatic is that? And that is the revelation that came to me that day.

In my head, I am filled with bravura moves and grand gestures which I am not equipped, physically, to execute. In my heart, I realise now it isn’t important, that small inadequacy.