I miss slaughtering Saracens, ripping the masts out of a French ship of the line with a well-placed cannon shot, fleet raids on Spanish fat galleons, digging for gold in the hills north of Placerville in the springtime, courting pretty women in the morning so early, and marching forever across foreign hills with my fellow centurions; dancing under the tall firs when two horses, a sword and a cow were real wealth; stalking redcoats in the autumn twilight; long nights in rustic taverns drinking brown ale; fighting for freedom in the moonlight. I miss the spinny magic of physical love made real for the 'first' time, and the triumph of surviving gales and mountains of dark water and wind-spume, making a headland and finding a sudden respite of shelter to drop the hook behind. I miss roasting my own fresh-shot buck over a campfire in the Rockies, and being struck dumb by the safe arrival of a new child, moist and loud by candlelight, and being swept away by the incredible power of the life-river inside us. I miss the ability to eat icecream for hours without side effects. I miss being able to sing falsetto and cruising for burgers at midnight.

However, I really have as much of all these things as I would ever need, and I am pretty happy to generate new and wonderful moments in the future.