I love it when a dermatologist tells you that you don’t look your age. Which happened last night. That’s beside the point – I really just wanted to brag a little. The main reason I was seeing the derm was about my rosacea, which was a cute flirty flush on the cheeks only two years ago, but now is becoming, well, ruddy is the only word for it. And when rosacea starts to advance – I now get little bumps along with the flushing – you need to take more serious action. Frustratingly, nobody really knows what causes rosacea, nor is there a cure. But oral antibiotics can help to settle it. So I’ve started a two-month course. Which, I’ve just realised, means that some sobriety is in order this spring. Kind of a depressing thought when for what is shaping up to be the perfect rosé season. But unless I want to work my skin back to my wine this summer, seems I have no choice. Onto happier thoughts … Did I mention my dermatologist says I don’t look my age?

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