My Life on a Plate

Longevity

A very famous and popular British television celebrity passed away yesterday of pneumonia, aged 61. Richard Whitely has presented a very entertaining word game called 'Countdown' for as far back as I can remember. For many people, my parents included, the afternoon slot filled by the programme became almost part of the family. We are all shocked and upset by his early demise and his chirpy manner will be sadly missed.

I remember a friend of mine saying some years ago that everyone should be supplied with a contract to live for eighty years, free of serious health problems. After all, we all take nine months to arrive in the world; how much fairer it would be to all have the same time allowance on earth. Simplistic and silly I know but when someone dies prematurely from a seemingly uncomplicated illness, it reminds us how fragile our hold on life is.

Is it luck, chance, lifestyle or genetics that determine how long we live? When I screamed at The Beatles in the sixties, I could never imagine that both my parents would outlive two of them. When I had my first love affair, I had no inkling that he would die at fifty-five, leaving his parents devastated. Standing in front of many classes of young children, how could I know that at least a dozen of them would pass on before my teaching career ended? In a couple of weeks it will be my school reunion; someone will bring along the old rolled up photograph of the whole school taken in 1965 and inevitably fingers will point to those who are no longer with us. A morbid subject I know, but one we cannot escape.

Maybe it would be too frightening to know exactly how much life we have left, but it's certainly hard to explain or understand why my husband's mother is ninety-one this year yet Mr Whitely has been taken thirty years earlier for no apparent reason. And he had so much more to give. Still, as the old saying goes, 'No one ever said life was fair.'

I suppose it's proof that we should literally live each day as if it's our last. Sorry for my maudlin thoughts, must be that Monday morning feeling. Now, how do I turn that trip to the supermarket into a meaningful, mind-blowing experience?