It would be good,
now and then,
to have a
visitor from
the future
drop in, say “Hi,
what year is this?”,
and, on being told,
reply “Oh, well, it
will all be ok
in the end, you
know.” But what
if he just frowned,
thoughtfully?
It would be good,
now and then,
to have a
visitor from
the future
drop in, say “Hi,
what year is this?”,
and, on being told,
reply “Oh, well, it
will all be ok
in the end, you
know.” But what
if he just frowned,
thoughtfully?
We all know
that Friday the
Thirteenth is
just another day,
really.
But it is good
to be reminded,
now and then,
that our lives
are subject to
chance, accident,
randomness, and
that around every
corner there may be
a banana skin.
However much
I complain about
the perils of
old age, and
I do, loudly,
it is better
than the
alternative,
much better.
We all, I think
make the mistake,
of confusing
actors with the
roles they play on
stage. But we are
all actors on
the stage of life.
Don’t confuse me
with roles I play.
I reached my
seventies, it
seemed, in a rush.
Suddenly I was
wandering in
a forest of years:
71, 77, 73, 78,
74, and look,
over there, at
the edge of the
forest, is 79.
And I think,
“I won’t be in
this forest very
long, for I am
running through
it. I should make
up my mind soon
what I am going
to do with my
life.”
Clive James and
Jonathan
Miller are
dead? What is
that bell I
hear tolling?
Wouldn’t it be
good if we could
go back in time
at will, to any
part of our lives,
in turn, and fiddle,
adjust, undo,
redo, make
better, make
amends, set
right, streamline,
straighten course,
enjoy, savour,
say goodbye,
say hullo,
say thank you,
all with the
benefit of
hindsight.
Or would it?
The young
should be taught,
what the old
know by instinct,
that every day
above ground is
a good day
Ship worms
do to the
hull of the
old wooden boat
what ageing
does to the
body of the
old human being.
There comes
a day for
everyone
when they
eat their
final meal