So I went out early on Saturday morning for coffee with an old friend in who happened to be in town for the day. Turned out that that was literally all we had time for. One coffee. Fifteen minutes to briefly catch up with an old friend, and off we we went, our seperate ways.

But I found out why they were in town. To see a heart specialist. They had to rush off to get to their hospital appointment, hence the rather hurried coffee.

So I wound up sitting there in Borders on Charing Cross Road, reflecting on this. That’s (possibly) four people I know with serious heart problems (excluding my Dad). Not one of them is over thirty. Two of them are younger than me. One of them needs a transplant. Heart and Lung, in fact. I haven’t spoken to her in over a year, something that leaves me feeling deeply, deeply shitty. The other two have been treated, and should be more or less fine.

The friend I was with Saturday morning, it’s too early to say. It might turn out to be nothing, or it could be something serious, but it’s sobering to realise that your friends may have serious health problems. It also leaves me wondering: why is it that it’s always the nicest people that these things happen to?