To be honest, my sense of my own mortality was already on my mind a little, even before the events of this week. That’s because something very odd happened, part way through last year: I stopped being of the current generation.

I’m pretty sure that as late as last spring, I was precisely that - the Current Generation, the one that’s actually Doing Life at this moment in time. And then, suddenly, at some point during the summer, I think, I became part of the Previous Generation. I was no longer Doing Life, I was reminiscing about Doing Life, and offering advice to the youngsters who were actually doing the Doing. I’m only 32!

It was a shock to discover that, whilst I think of my school days as being a few years ago (five, maybe?), it’s actually nearly seventeen since I did my GCSEs. That any recollections I may have about what it’s like to be a teenager, or a student, or a recent graduate, are so outdated as to be in danger of obsolescence. It’s a pretty sobering thought.