In the middle of the night, while the ghosties are trying to pick Mrs Galloway’s refirgerator lock to get at her Creme Eggs, I lie awake and watch the moon slowly move between the pines and think of the advantages of dying. Not that we are given a choice. Well, yes, there is self-slaughter, but that has always struck me as vulgar and self-important, like people who walk out of the theatre or the symphony concert. What I mean is - well, you know what I mean.

Main reasons for dying: it’s what others expect when you reach my age; impending decreptitude and senility; waste of money - using up inheritance - keeping together brain-dead incontinent bag of old bones; decreased interest in The News, famines, wars, etc; fear of falling under total power of Sgt-Major; desire to Find Out about Afterwards (or not?).

Main reasons for not dying; have never done what others expect, so why start now; possible distress caused to others (but if so, inevitable at any time); still only on B at Lie Brewery; who would infuriate

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