It is probably a bit too late for me to die young and beautiful. It certainly is too late for me to die young and I was never beautiful. Awful to hear of young people dying from accidents or cancer or disease.
My father used to hire a machine every so often to spray blackberries on the farm. It was great fun to be covered in the spray of the milky white liquid from the spray tanker attached to the tractor. A mist of DDT is so cooling on a hot day.
This cement sheet stuff is fun. You can jump on the old stuff and break it up. You can saw it into shapes, you can file it into shapes. Even in my and R's first house in Waverley Road, East Malvern, our garage had this cement sheet product and we patched up holes with some sawn pieces. What fun asbestos was.
Trips in the car were always fun for us kiddies, we did not bother that Fa, Ma and Uncle smoked away. Shut the windows please, we would ask, it is cold.
I suppose it is in the genes, but so far, I have survived DDT poisoning, asbestos pollution and passive smoking, ok yes, some active smoking too.
Along with a fondness for the juice of the grape, the fermented hops and the distilled product of barley, it is not a recipe for a long life hey.
I am very close to the age when my father first was diagnosed with cancer. He lasted for about eight years after diagnosis. (Can you get cancer from boredom?)
While I hope to live to be 100 and see Microsoft go bankrupt, cars banned within five kilometres of the city, computers that just work, tv I really like, and the great greenhouse effect reversal, I don't expect I will.
But I would like to know like exactly when. I don't want to run out of money in my old age, but nor do I want to leave a heap to anyone, obviously R excepted. None of my family or friends are rich but nor are any of them really poor. I arrived in this world with a zero bank balance. I hope I can go out that way.