There is one advantage to a stay in hospital followed by confinement to barracks: time to read and to think. I have devoted a lot of thought to great topics; do I hear ‘sublime’ and ‘ridiculous’? My two subjects have been the existence of God and the prospects of the Tories winning the next election.

God first. I have reaffirmed the conclusion which I’ve held for many years. There is no route from reason to faith. You either believe or not. I remain someone who is deeply religious by temperament but who cannot believe. There it is.

Recently, on the subject of religious observance, there has been some debate in the press. There have been complaints that the clergy, on great occasions such as high masses, were resplendent in their dress. Our Lord presumably dressed like a mendicant friar. Surely the clergy should follow His example. There’s an obvious reply. Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam. If God did not create man, man created God and endowed His creation with every form of artistic splendour. The aesthetics of religion have inspired the great glories of the human condition. One sees no reason why vestments, robes, surpluses et al should not also express the splendour of worship.

Splendour. Not much of that about the Tory party these days. For me, there is a constant source of irritation. In the approach march to 1964 and again to 1997 there was an inescapable conclusion: fin de régime. Whether fairly or not, the Conservative government was dying and simply waiting until the electorate performed the execution.

Today, that is not true. Rishi Sunak may be the most exciting politician in Britain, arguably in Europe. We are waiting to know more about who he is, what he believes, and where he hopes to take the country. So how long will his reticence last? The hungry sheep look up and are not fed.

Sublimity, ridicule, wine. One or two minor medical setbacks – something as trivial as a burst blister can be a confounding nuisance – means I have drunk less good wine than I had intended. I do denote signs of recovery, in that I no longer find it sufficient to nod contentedly and take vicarious pleasure in other men’s bottles.

My friend Craig, who has previously featured in this column, is famous for his cornucopia of daughters, all of them notorious for beauty and naughtiness. I may be repeating this, but it bears repetition. In one of the Tottering by Gently cartoons, Old Lord Tottering and one of his muckers are seated near some gyrating female teenagers. ‘Has it ever occurred to you, old man,’ says one to the other, ‘that the number of daughters a chap has is directly proportional to his wickedness in a previous life?’ Craig has six. He must have had a remarkable time in his previous existence.

Anyway, he was dining with three of the girls and I would have joined them had it not been for this wretched blister. He told me that they began with a bottle of Puligny-Montrachet, followed by some Léoville-Barton. I was enthusiastically toasted with many eloquent wishes for a speedy recovery. My response was acute envy, so I must be improving. I have suddenly become fed up with hearing about serious bottles and not partaking.

So the next time I make my report in this column, I trust that it will no longer be concerned with medical distractions, but rather with wines for my readers’ delectation. I have plans to break open the Léoville-Barton this weekend and cannot wait.