Concern a perfect antidote to these worrying times

My view I’m a worrier and, frankly, it’s a nuisance.

Nothing ruins the happy anticipation of an adventure or family event like a pesky gaggle of untidy worries worming their way into your plans.

That overseas holiday you’ve been looking forward to can have most of its gloss removed by worries about clear air turbulence, rabid customs officers, tight travel schedules, taxi scams, the loss of documents and the fact that your cats will probably leave home never to be seen again while you’re sunning yourself on the beach in Tahiti trying not to worry about the likelihood of contracting food poisoning from this evening’s seafood buffet.

Worrying runs in the family. It’s less a character defect than a genetic inheritance from the less

My father was a worrier too. A young soldier in World War II, worry shaped his experiences in Italy at the Sangro River and Cassino battles, developing into what we would now call full blown anxiety and resulting, eventually, in PTSD.

As a returned soldier, a farmer, husband and father, his tendency to worry did not diminish. As we grew up and left home he spent an inordinate amount of time worrying, as if his anxiety could keep us safe at long distance.

One of my brothers worked on a dairy farm in the Wairarapa as a young chap. He often rode his motorcycle south to Wellington to visit another brother working in Lower Hutt. He remembers the telephone ringing at 6am as he cooked porridge and toasted bread for the milkers. It was an expensive toll call from our father who had been listening to the early weather forecast, as was his daily habit. ‘‘You might want to postpone that trip south,’’ he told my startled brother,’’ there’s a big northerly coming through and it’ll