In a sense he is Everyman, albeit in decline, for he is now 72 years of age, and beginning to look like a man whose facade is one of great personal satisfaction while his inner landscape is a bleak, bleak place. As Everyman he does his utmost to be content with his life, and his ongoing pursuit of happiness is evident as he waxes enthusiastic about his most recent travels as a global traveller viewing the world through the lens of a tourist.

He lives alone now, not by conscious choice, but by circumstances of his very own devising. He simply never thought ahead to how his behaviour would play out in the consciousness of his wife, and now he is bereft of a companion. Not that he hasn't tried over the succeeding years to replace her. But he is a fastidious man, and his attempts have been to replicate the physical dimensions of what he spurned. He wants a younger woman, though not too young, and she must be physically fit and she must, above all, be attractive. He has introduced us to a few of these not-too-young, attractive and seemingly intelligent women whose intellect, it must be admitted, surpass that of his former wife.

And perhaps that explains why his alliances have never lasted though on at least two occasions women obligingly moved into his home for brief periods before ultimately departing. From the lapse now in such occasions, it would seem he has relented in his drive to find a suitable wife-substitute. Surely his wandering eye hasn't dimmed to that extent, I wonder?

On the other hand, perhaps so. He has devoted himself to upgrading his already sumptuous home with the latest in decor, because funding those changes presents no difficulty to him. On the latest tour through his home, he proudly pointed out all the superb details in craftsmanship displayed in the rooms he inhabits like a grey ghost, all representing a costly output, and appearing as though straight out of a home-fashion magazine; beautiful and somehow sterile. He intends, he says with a smile behind which is a trace of gravity, to die in that house. And perhaps he will.

His latest world trip had been to various points on the African continent. He always regales us afterward with details of his travelling experiences, how enjoyable they have been, the sights he has seen, the interchanges with people, his admiration for the heritage, history and traditional cultures he has been exposed to. He is, in fact, a most amenable person, someone who perfectly fits the adjective "nice".

He is, however, now struggling with a mysterious ailment. He has long had a very mild form of muscular dystrophy (Oculopharyngeal) which he claims has not impinged on his state of health to any unmanageable degree. He has always been a very active, fit person, skiing in the winter, swimming in his inground pool in the summer and belonging to an area fitness centre. Two days ago he said he might one day join us in a ravine walk, to see what it's like; this from a man who has lived adjacent a wooded ravine for over a quarter-century and never once ventured into it.

Try it, we said, you'll enjoy it. Not now, he responded, telling us he has been unable to exert much physical energy in the past month or so; he was diagnosed with jaundice and with low iron levels, though he has ample iron circulating in his system, it is not accessible. He is now easily exhausted, walking up the street to retrieve mail from the community mailbox adjacent the ravine entrance is all he can manage. His doctor, he says, hasn't been much help and the specialists he has consulted don't quite know what the problem is, though he has been given medication to aid in coping with the symptoms.