I'm very proud of my quarter-century of almost-pints, despite the fact that my contribution to the proceedings consists of lolling about for ten minutes clenching and unclenching my fist then eating two Tuc Sandwich Crackers and a packet of crisps.
I started giving blood soon after I turned 18. It's taken me ten years to get this far. Healthy donors can carry on giving until they're 70, so provided I live that long - and don't suffer illness or injury that requires me to receive blood myself, or contract hepatitis or CJD, or spend too much of my time having sex with men who've had sex with other men - I could certainly give blood a hundred times.
It's quite an awesome thought. There probably aren't 25 people walking round with some of my blood in their veins, as some donations are destined for the lab, but there must be a fair few. There might even be someone out there who wouldn't be alive without my red cells. You don't know where your blood ends up, but you know it's doing good somewhere.
It's been an eventful decade. I wonder what my life will be like when I make my 50th, 75th and 100th donations?