With hindsight, I realize that I first encountered the effects of hypoglycemia at first hand as a child. My normally mild-mannered father would become quite nasty if his meal was not virtually on the table when he came home at 6.00 pm. –- and he always had a voracious appetite in spite of being so slim that people accused my mother of not feeding him properly. Years later, while driving round London with three friends, looking for a restaurant of which we all approved, I remember finally almost jumping out of the car before it stopped and yelling “I don’t care what they serve, I’m going in here”. It turned out to be Mexican, which I don’t particularly like, but I just had to eat.