A Will Without Witness.

Let me say at the outset that I have not been diagnosed with a terminal condition. I don’t know whether I shall die tonight, next week, in five or fifteen years time… But we are supposed to reach the fabled three score years and ten, aren’t we, so if I did ring down the curtain now people would say that I died prematurely. They’re entitled to engage the platitude, of course, although it would irritate me in spirit if I were still around to hear it.

What I do know is that when I open the box of pleasure seeds I find it empty, and my body does occasionally tell me that the garden of delights is now fading into the browning detritus of winter. In such circumstances it is not unnatural to give some thought to what lies ahead. And so I do, frequently, and I should like to place upon record that I wish the following with regard to that eventuality:

1. That my end should be quiet and painless

2. That I should be alone at the time.

3. That I should be in a place where nobody will ever find me.

4. That I should go un-mourned.

I’m committing this to published form because it occurs to me that somebody, some day, might consider a few of my jottings to be of minor significance. They might even write an essay about me, and so my endgame wishes will give them something to quote. I always did like being useful.

And I expect I will re-engage with the blogging habit when the black dog grows tired and goes off for a nap. He’s so full of irrepressible life at this time of year.