Premature oldness.

I find as I get older that the floor gets further and further away.

Picking something up becomes so much of a strain.

Getting back up is like an ascent of Everest, a multi-stage affair that ends with a final push where you suffer through lack of oxygen.

It's not just picking things off the floor - getting out of bed in the morning has become the sort of tuck and roll job you might learn to do as a paratrooper, I grunt like Maria Sharapova when getting out of a chair and get a menopausal band of sweat on my forehead climbing the stairs.

This is not the first time that I start to wonder whether I'm suffering from premature oldness.