Many are the signs that tell you you’re getting old.

There are the tickboxes on surveys that ask for your age. When you move up one, you know you’re one step closer to the Grim Reaper.

Then there are the phrases that recall dearly departed relatives. You know the kind of thing: “You’ll catch your death of cold!” when your teenager goes out without a coat on. Or “You won’t feel the benefit” when self-same teen refuses to take said coat off. At times like that, I realise I’ve turned into my gran. Don’t even think about telling me you haven’t uttered those words – I won’t believe you.

But the occurrence that’s making me feel ancient right now is the deluge of invitations for cancer tests, which seem to kick in once you reach your half-century.

So far this year, I have had my boob flattened against one of the NHS’s finest scanners at the Royal Cornwall Hospital, and – hold your breakfast – stuck a prong into some bodily matter to be checked for bowel cancer. I had seen those packets go through during my occasional shifts at the Royal Mail sorting office – now I know exactly what’s in them, I might handle them with more care.

If breast and bowel wasn’t enough, I’ve also been invited to partake in that lovely event now delicately referred to as “cervical screening”, and once described more bluntly as a “smear” or, even worse, “the scrape”. Shudder.

I am, of course, more than happy to oblige with all of these invitations and deeply grateful for the opportunity to do so for free on the NHS – well, not exactly gratis because I have paid for it (willingly) through my taxes, but you know what I mean.

It sure beats the alternative, which is finding out too late to do anything meaningful about it.

We are certainly talking about it more. Dame Deborah James, aka BowelBabe, hardly seemed to be off my TV screen before her untimely death in June 2022, aged just 40; and close to home, we lost 38-year-old Newquay trailblazer Kris Hallenga to breast cancer in May last year.

Both took a no-nonsense approach to the illness that took their lives so early; Dame Deborah took every opportunity to remind people to “check your poo”, while Kris launched a charity called CoppaFeel to encourage women of all ages to examine themselves for telltale lumps.

And both women were testament to the fact that cancer does not always wait until you’re 50 to strike. Indeed, while almost 400,000 people are diagnosed with cancer in the UK each year, more than 2,400 of these are children and teenagers.

Children’s cancer charity Candlelighters marks World Cancer Day today (Tuesday, February 4) by celebrating a year of supportive care research – looking at improving the care surrounding cancer treatment, rather than finding cures, for example treating side effects, managing pain and reducing infection.

It’s hard to imagine being diagnosed so young, let alone being subjected to cancer treatments designed for adults that can take their toll on smaller bodies. According to Candlelighters, one in three young people die not because of the cancer itself, but because of the side effects of their treatment, including internal ulcers and diarrhoea.

With that in mind, I think I can do a small, if slightly gross, procedure in the comfort of my own home. I won’t pretend I didn’t shrink from the bowel cancer test; it took me a few months, and a gentle reminder through the post, to bite the bullet (for which read: grab the poo). You really don’t need much of the stuff, and it’s all done, dusted and in the postbox in a jiffy.

(Do I need to point out that you can get into serious trouble for posting your poo for any other reason, and in anything less than medically safe packaging? Probably not, but there it is anyway.)

But it’s done now. And what is poo, but proof of how clever our bodies are, in being able to absorb the stuff we need from our food, and expel the bits that we don’t. Why are we so squeamish about it?

My own grandfather was taken by bowel cancer at the comparatively young age of 72. If you are experiencing any of the symptoms - changes in your bowel movements, bleeding from your bottom, weight loss or abdominal pain are just some – don’t hesitate to seek reassurance or an early diagnosis from your GP.

And just do the bloody tests, any test you are offered. It won't kill you - but not doing so just might.

As I was writing this column, a letter arrived informing me that “no further tests are needed at this time”. And in two years’ time, I’ll be invited to do it all over again, thereby reminding me that, yes, I am indeed getting older.