Bertie, one of the Wardens up at the church, has a special doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning.
I believe, from what they say in the village, that he must be nearing eighty. Certainly he’s an old boy of Little Tremlett School, which closed its doors back in the forties. Yet he barely looks a day over fifty. They reckon that his remarkable youth is down to his receiving a dose of special “reviving” hormones periodically, which village rumour connects to concepts such as “monkey glands” and “something a civet would rather not live without”.
Anyway, tomorrow he’s off to the doctor’s for his latest dose. Apparently each booster lasts five years. The women at the church refer to it as his “Quinquennial injection”.