Now here’s the thing – at 51, my memory ain’t what it used to be. I know my name of course, the ingredients of my favourite drink and the faces of those people I can’t stand, but if there’s one thing that trips me up every time... it’s passwords.

Until I was 14, all a password was was entry to a secret den. After I grew out of that, I don’t think the word raised its head again until I was in my forties.

Now I guess, had I chosen a different career path – you know, like opting to be a submarine commander or a 5 star general in charge of a nuclear silo – I might have been more accustomed to remembering codenames, but clearly I didn’t.

Instead, I desperately wanted to be either an astronaut (too stupid), a film director (too stupid) or a journalist (perfectly qualified).

Which means today I’d shake hands and proudly salute the war hero who helped defend Arnhem bridge during the Second World War.

In the film A Bridge Too Far (I’ve never read the book) character Major Harry Carlyle is inspired by real life Major Allison Digby Tatham-Warter, who despite the full-scale destruction of the Dutch town around him, paraded rather.... interestingly. Indeed, despite the almost hourly bombardments, he insisted on carrying an umbrella.

Why? Because “he could never remember the password, and it would be quite obvious to anyone that the bloody fool carrying the umbrella could only be an Englishman”.

I get that, because today passwords are the bane of my life.

Without one, I can’t get access to my computer at work, my bank account, I can’t buy over the internet, download music, access my salary slips, order prescriptions, confirm my membership of Which, pay bills, or pretty much do anything that requires the use of a computer. Which means that should my memory be poor, I’m all but impotent.

So there, I’ve said it , I AM impotent. And what’s worse, I can’t even remember the answers to the security questions I’m asked to confirm my password when I have forgotten it.

It’s always ‘mother’s maiden name?’, ‘best friend?’, ‘first record?’, ‘school?’, ‘favourite film?’ and in all honesty, who remembers these?

Far better, surely, that the security questions touch a nerve, like ‘first love?’, ‘first rejection?’, ‘first girl who ever said “I love you as a friend?”’ and first woman who ever purred “I love you for who you are, not how you look”’.

Because those are the kind of answers I can remember despite not wanting to. Consequently, I do worry about the future.

In not so many months I’ll be 52, and frankly I’ll consider myself lucky if I can even remember where I live.

What then if I need a password to enter my own home, scratch my dog under its chin, or use a toaster?

It’ll be the end...