It was certainly encouraging to see news media featuring some positive items on the weekend.
Because it was the first weekend after the arrival of level 1, Kiwis went out and celebrated after the weeks of "imprisonment" and their celebrations made the news.
"Kick your heels up" was the message.
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Well, I was part of the team of five million and I thought I should kick my heels up too. So I did.
And I fell over.
Now, I may not be a pretty sight at the best of times but, in a heap on the floor, I'm sure I'm pretty risible.
I think that if I had overlooked the plural, I could quite safely have kicked up just one heel, with the assurance offered by the other one being firmly anchored to the ground.
So the "celebration" served as a bit of a reminder that you can't always do what you used to do.
You can't, for example, go to a cupboard and, once you have opened it, know what you went there for.
I'm afraid it's just the reality of age catching up.
Exercise certainly gets tougher. Oh yes, you can go to the gym and jump and gyrate for a good half hour. But that's just in the changing room trying to get into your lycra.
Your trampoline skills have probably also taken a bit of a nosedive. Mine certainly have. Oh, I can still clamber up and get on one but it's what I do once I'm there. A pleasant snooze is often my heartiest desire.
I used to be able to leap so high that I considered myself airborne but now the dizzying heights I gain are measured in mere centimetres.
I used to shout, "Whee, what fun!" Now I think, "This is a stupid and pointless activity!"
Besides, I've got to watch my knee. And my shoulder. And my back.
Mrs D and I have a couple of little memory games which help to keep our grey matter in tip top condition. One involves taking out the garbage.
I'm talking in-house garbage here because – sorry if this sounds a bit posh – we have both internal and external garbage.
When the kitchen waste bag is full, the person who takes it out to the external bin has to remember to bring back from the garage a replacement bag for the internal bin. This seldom happens. We keep score.
The other involves our en suite.
When we converted a garage into a bedroom with en suite, I had a brilliant idea. The enclosed toilet was at the end of the bathroom so I thought it would be a good idea to have its light switch on the outside so you could flick it on as you walked in.
Trouble is, you usually forget to switch it off on exiting. Mrs D's game is to say to me, "Shall I turn the toilet light off for you?"
I don't use that ploy. I just keep a mental tally of how many times she has left it on and one day I will let rip with the grand total.
There are two other things I can no longer do as well. The first is staying awake if I sit down after a day's work. I can nod off in a nanosecond.
And I can't remember what the second one is.
But I can remember the words of Cora Harvey Armstrong: "Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what the hell happened."
So, if you meet up with me out socialising over the next few weeks, please remember that I'm willing to kick a heel up with you.
But not both.