Nervously awaiting my afternoon flight from Dublin to Stansted. Predicted weather conditions - strong, gusty winds.
Earlier this year, also at Dublin airport, my plane was forced to sit on the runway for 30 minutes while the pilot waited for the wind to drop to a 'safe' level. The flight itself is one I don't want to repeat in a hurry.
On a completely different topic my financial adviser suggested recently I should switch my life insurance policy from one company to another.
No idea why but that's why I have a financial adviser.
He also suggested I should significantly increase my monthly pension payments if I want to have any sort of life after I 'retire', but that's another matter.
"They may want you to have a health check," he warned.
"OK," I sighed, and signed the application form.
So far I haven't been summoned for a check-up but the (new) company has seen my medical records and last week an enthusiastic young man rang to ask a few questions.
The first one, needless to say, was "Do you smoke?"
"No," I said. "Well, maybe the very occasional cigar on special occasions."
On Thursday I received a text from my financial guru.
"Are you a smoker?"
"No," I texted back, "but I told them I smoked one or two cigars a year."
"In their eyes that makes you a smoker," he replied.
So it's official. The director of Forest is a smoker. Hurrah!