When I was a younger mouse, so much younger than today, I didn’t need much help from anyone, in any way. I was fairly self-sufficient in my Devon life: growing vegetables, teaching myself ukulele, chopping logs for exercise and, rather than indulging in costly therapy or counselling, turning to a combination of books and beer to ease my burdens. These days, now in London, possibly because I’m not so self-assured, I need an awful lot of help in life. I woke up the other morning and counted up the dizzying array of consultants, specialists, doctors, coaches and other professionals I seem to require in order to keep healthy in mind, body and spirit. There were loads of them. I counted that I’d used the services of 14 over the last 12 months. But it’s not just the dentist. There’s the hygienist, and now something called a periodontist: a bit like...
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