Dangerous situations: being held at knifepoint, being in labour with complications, crossing the road…of these three I think the road was the actually the worst.

Picture a suburban road in 1962, with semi-detached houses and neat front gardens. There are wooden double gates allowing the lucky owners space to park a car, should they own one. There are scarlet salvias in the bed edging the lawn and gladioli against the dividing wall. The sun is reflected from gleaming tiles at the front door.

Of course, I don’t know this is true, but it is how my house would look on a sunny summer’s day, and I suppose it was at least fairly dry and warm for the following to have happened.

Adults must have been busy elsewhere, because somehow the baby gave them the slip. She was too young to walk yet, so she crawled down the path in front of the house. The gates were wide open, and through them was an enticing new world ready to explore. She had tough knees, because she crawled across the pavement and straight into the road, and then started to cross that too. On the other side was a park with trees and grass. It looked more interesting than the pavement.

The first sign of a problem for her mother was the fact that the large red double decker bus had stopped in front of the house. The bus stop was down the road, so it was unlikely the bus would stop where it was unless something was wrong – a flat tyre or a medical emergency perhaps? Curiosity drove her to go out and have a look.

To her amazement she discovered her daughter sitting in the road in front of the bus, obviously concerned that she did not have the correct fare. The bus driver was a kindly soul who preferred not to run over passengers, actual or potential, so he had applied the brakes firmly when he noticed the small bundle ahead of him in a place where by rights a small bundle should not be.

This is why I continue to have a soft spot for bus drivers to this day, even the grumpy ones.

If I were an inanimate object, what would I be?

Candle flame

I would be the thing that is alive without living, that meets the criteria of life such as moving, reproducing, growing, consuming. I would have meaning and be intimately involved in the lives of those around me.

I would be a candle, and I would be your most constant friend.

I would shine a light under the bed to chase away the monsters. I would beam over your shoulder as you read, lighting the words on the page and learning in your mind. I would comfort your soul as you meditated or prayed. I would burn steadfastly in your window to guide your lover home. I would watch your babe as she slept in my golden glow. I would keep a vigil over your sickbed. In the end I would melt away with you in your final resting place.

If love were a thing you could hold, it would be me. But beware because I can also burn.

Syringe

I live in a technological world.

From the moment of birth (emergency medical intervention gave me the chance of life) to this moment where I type on a laptop and transmit the words to ...well, somewhere other people can read them..... every moment is supported by technology.

My food is kept fresh in a fridge. Without it I would have to shop daily or grow my own. My cooking is done on a device somewhat more advanced than an open fire. My house is heated with a system which can control the timing and levels of temperature for me. I travel in cars, trains and (rarely but easily) aeroplanes. The printing presses that produce the daily paper would be unrecognisable to the visionaries of Gutenberg. Antibiotics have reduced the mass killers of measles, diptheria and their like to pale shadows, a couple of days of inconvenience, no more.

And all of that before we consider the telephone and, eventually, the Internet.

I was once at a workshop where we were asked to consider the greatest scientific advance of the past 100 years. My own suggestion was the contraceptive pill; by giving people the means to control their fertility (while also developing medicine to extend life chances) we finally gained traction on our destiny, in the Western world at least, against the impetus of procreation.

So there is an awful lot of technology tied up with every facet of my existence, and virtually none of it feels optional.

It's a slightly terrifying thought, and I am not sure I shall sleep easily as a result. Suddenly life seems precarious; to be confronted with my addiction to technology is disquieting and humbling.