There’s nothing like a nagging pain to remind you that you’re not getting any younger.

I’ve had a stiff neck for about six weeks and it isn’t getting any better. I first noticed it on the plane returning from holiday at the end of August, and put it down to a lop-sided nap.

I thought it would disappear after a good night’s sleep, but it didn’t go anywhere. Instead, the pain gradually worsened, creeping up my neck and morphing into a full-on throbbing headache.

I have now become used to the pain. The headache is generally worse in the mornings and comes and goes through the day. The stiff neck is a constant, and is especially tricky when I’m driving and turning to the right.

“You need to get this sorted,” said my sister as I gripped and massaged my head like an anguished thespian during an evening at the theatre last week.

So I did the thing I hate doing most of all – I booked an appointment with the doctor. Since I’d rather visit the dentist than the doctor, this meant drawing on reserves of courage I wasn’t aware I had.

The reason I hate going to the doctor’s is that I feel I’m wasting their time. Once there, I can’t get out quick enough – I’m already grabbing my handbag and backing out of the door before they’ve finished scribbling a prescription.

“I’ve got a stiff neck that won’t go away,” I told the doc, feeling foolish. He asked what I thought had caused it, I suggested swimming, and he agreed. “Too much lifting the head during breaststroke. It happened to me once,” he said.

While not ruling out “early arthritis”, which made me feel about 100, he said it was more likely a strain on the facet joints connecting the spine to the head. There’s no cure – just neck exercises and painkillers.

“You can’t get a strain from swimming, it’s the most benign exercise there is, apart from bowling,” said my unsympathetic boyfriend, when I told him I probably had Facet Joint Syndrome.

“It’s degeneration due to age and repetitive activity,” I retorted, quoting the internet. “You’re just old,” he said.

And he’s right. My body is giving in to middle-age, it’s the start of a slippery slope into gradual physical decline. Which is why I’m determined to continue swimming – I just need to vary my strokes.

“Wasn’t that what Different Strokes was about?” joked my bloke, referring to the Eighties sitcom that only middle-aged people will remember. Now that does make me feel old.