Mr Knobby’s in fine form, polishing his head until it shines, arranging his shirt around his neck at a jaunty angle. ‘You lucky, lucky boy,’ he croons, looking at himself at various angles in the mirror. As Mr Knobby’s personal trainer and physiotherapist, I’m giving him plenty of massage and exercise – not so much as to wear him out, of course – just enough to keep him on form, so to speak. That’s how it should be anyway. It’s begun to hurt. That should be the final proof, but of course it’s no proof at all. The pain might be psychosomatic. I spend hours every day focusing on the afflicted area, trying to work out if the pain is real or not, which is actually the worst possible thing to do. Did you know that cancer is the final, terminal stage of neurosis? I read that somewhere. The mind and the body are one. If you feel good about yourself you get healthy. If you’re depressed you get spots and colds and ’flu and things. And if you worry too much, that gives you problems too – heart attacks, ulcers – and cancer.
