Life after Parkinson's

I remember 24 July 1982. The doctor had completed my annual medical and I was waiting for the verbal abuse that only doctors are permitted to deliver, such as “You should lose some weight” or “Ever thought of giving up smoking?”

Surprisingly he asked me in a kind and concerned voice if I had any other problems. I mentioned that I had some stiffness in my right hand that was making my writing a bit squiggly, which was a little irritating. I joked that it was interfering with my ability to grip a golf club.

I had first noticed it in the pub on Christmas Eve. Someone offered me a crisp and I had difficulty picking it up—my fingers just did not move. Over the months, it had got worse but I was working hard sorting out the problems at Grattan, the “ailing” mail order company that I had joined earlier as chief executive.

The doctor took off my glasses and …