For my weekly writing spot on this site, see the One-Minute Mystic, with a new meditation posted every Monday. Also see The Village, the story of Misty Longings, England's most beautiful village, posted episode by episode earlier this year.       The doctor was a locum from Poland, and pleasingly thorough. But she was worried about my heart. "It's very slow," she said. "It's always slow," I replied. "Forty three beats a minute is unusual." I explained I ran a lot, but she still insisted I go to the hospital for an ECG, "just to make sure". And so a month later, I am sitting in an out patients clinic, wondering why the only magazines available in waiting rooms and clinics, are women's magazines. It may be one reason why men never go to the doctor. The middle-aged man in front of me, like every good Boy Scout, is prepared for this, and plays football on a mini-screen. I enjoy some simple breathing exercises, as the surest way to bring mind and body together. "Here's your ticket, Mr Parke – now go and wait at the end of the corridor." At the end of the corridor, bent figures sit silent, and an electronic numbers board flashes our number when it's our turn. It is just like in Argos, when your item's ready for collection, so I feel at home. The Boy Scout gets back to his football, and then a man leaps up, saying "I'll have some!" A coffee trolley has just appeared. "It's a pound" says the volunteer assistant. "Oh, no then, no," says the man. "I thought it was free." The volunteer smiles wearily, and then an old couple decide they can afford it. Those of us with dodgy hearts probably needn't worry too much about our savings. Suddenly, the electronic boards says: "95". That's me. "Hello," says the nice young Australian nurse. "Now, I'll just need your top bare and you lying on the bed." I love the collapse of social rules in medical settings, and soon I am stripped and lying next to a woman I've never met before. "We're just going to wire you up, and see what we see." She's working in England because it's such a good place to travel from. "It takes six and half hours of flying just to leave Australia," she says. "That can be depressing." Meanwhile back with my heart; "It's very slow," she says. "It's always slow. I do run a lot." "That may explain things. The heart is a muscle, of course, and the more it's used the stronger it is. Full time marathon runners have heart rates in the thirties. That wouldn't get most of us out of bed. But if you don't mind – I just want to show this print out to a cardiologist. I see a slight problem. I'm sure it's nothing, but best check." A slight problem – with my heart? Mmmm. In the following fifteen minutes, I plan my final few weeks on earth; it's mainly about the nature of the goodbyes – and a desire to enjoy the scent of flowers. "The cardiologist says you're fine," she says on her return. "I just had to check." Tomorrow, she's off for a holiday in Croatia, and me – who knows? But for the moment at least, the goodbyes must wait. More writings © Simon Parke