Seven Things.

With all these intimations of mortality flying about, I got to thinking in the bath about the things I’d like to do before I die. This is what I have so far:

Persuade everybody in the world to start being nice to each other for a change. (I tried to watch Slumdog Millionaire tonight, but switched it off because it was shaking my faith in human nature – again!)

Look twenty years younger when I encounter the delightful Sarah walking her dog along the lane.

Meet the guys who wrote Father Ted and tell them what a pair of geniuses they are. (Be honest, the idea of having the idiot Dougal persuading the bishops to apostatize can’t be that far short of genius.)

Find a shop that gives away bottles of Talisker to anybody who can recite Albert and the Lion.

Be able to talk like Keith Wood whenever the fancy takes me.

Find a way of getting my little wild rabbit pals to eat the tops off only some of my carrots.

Invent a device that stops underpants turning inside out in the washing machine.

I stopped at seven. Seven is a good number.