I FINALLY realised this week that I am an old fogey.

That, in fact, I am of the generation gone by.

Now normally this sort of cathartic, life-defining moment occurs because of the sudden realisation that you cannot stand modern music.

But since I quite like disco (sing it with me...D-I-S-C-O!) that obviously wasn’t what did it for me.

No. My earth shattering, approaching-geriatric awakening was caused directly by one of our young vets and I shall never forgive him for it. He may one day leave the practice for pastures new but he will be forever etched in my mind along with my first kiss (it was a Labrador), that day the top of my head first burned in the sun and the owner of a lovebird who laughed cheerily as it crushed my thumbnail with its beak.

I suppose, in a way, my new dawning was something of my own doing. I take it upon myself to watch new vets quite closely. It’s part of my job really.

Some need support. Others are best left to their own devices. All, however, take a little time to absorb the way we like to do things, to become familiar with protocols and pricing and to discover what they can and cannot do.

Everyone is different and everyone wants to do things their own way but, with 17 vets in the surgery, it is important that patients and clients get some continuity of thought, attitude and a similar ethos from all. And anyway, my way is the right way, or at least it is until someone shows me a better way.

This casual monitoring of new staff over a decade or three has made me appreciate one or two things.

These things are mainly about Rome. Firstly, of course, Rome wasn’t built in a day and, secondly, lots of people were probably fiddling while it burned.

I have also learnt that new recruits look things up a lot. They frequently have to check items on the price list. They regularly visit the library. But most of all, they constantly refer to The National Office of Animal Health (NOAH) Compendium of Data Sheets.

This, my dear friends, is the veterinary surgeon's Bible. This book, which was only 2cm thick when I first started, is now a 5cm tome containing every scrap of information you need to know about every licensed drug that is available to treat animals. And everyone but everyone and, in particular, new vets who have never prescribed before, flick through its crisp, thin pages over and over again.

Except, for the first time in my ;big daddy is watching you; career, this new chap didn’t. He never went near it. He never touched the blooming thing.

I prowled the surgery corridors furtively for days just itching to catch him sneaking a look. But no. Not a dicky bird.

Was he deranged? Did he have a photographic memory? No. He merely used his smart phone thing to consult the Compendium App. Turns out there is an app for everything.

Oh I feel old. I need a nAp I think...