One afternoon in 1996 (probably) I listened to a radio interview with the actor Warren Mitchell. He was asked if he'd started to think about death. I can't remember anything else about the interview, I think it must have been one of those entertainment-pretending-to-be-psycho-analysis Radio 4 programmes.
Warren would have been 70 at the time. His reply was that you start to think about that when you turn 40.
Well as it happens I didn't start thinking about my own mortality when I entered my 40s a few years later, but I have now. My brother's brush with lymphoma and my sister in law's untimely demise have brought it uncomfortably closer.
I'm 65, so I might have 20 years left. If I think about the events of 2006, twenty years ago - it's when the first Arctics album came out. When the smoking ban started in the UK. The year Steve McLaren became England manager.
It's not very long, is it? Actually I've just checked and life expectancy for a 65 year old man is a bit lower than that but since I have a decently fit and moderate lifestyle, I'll give myself another 20.
Anyway - don't want to be depressing or anything, but maybe it's healthy to talk about it. And maybe I'm lucky still to be in my 60s. I sometimes wonder what Ringo or Paul or Mick Jagger feel about death, having reached that point in life where your age is a terminal illness.
Warren Mitchell lived to 89.
Finally here's a poem by Philip Larkin that I read a long time ago, when my supply of remaining years seemed inexhaustible. He was only 52 when he wrote this so perhaps I've been getting away with it for a while. But sadly enough he did only have another eleven years.
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
—The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused—nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.
Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.
Only five more years and you'll be out of 'sniper's alley'. Be there before you know it.
Just one look at the text under my pcture tells you how I feel on the subject.
I was seven when my father died, my grandparents (yes those grandparents) died when I was 2 and 6, I had seen my share of death and even understood the gravity when my dad passed. I have a memory gap that is on and off for three years after that in which I can only imagine my brain tried to cope with all of this.
I recall thinking about death and dying vividly (no pun intended) when I was ten years old. Mortality, my own mortality, has always been a subject, but I never shied away from it, not did I ever built any sort of fear. It happens, that's it. We are here for the tiniest blip of time. And then - poof - you're gone.
I had a moment, some 8 years ago, where I thought: If I grow any older than this, I'll be older than my father became. And I did, obviously, so the challenge now is to surpass my mum, she is now 80 and een though she had a bit of a scare recently, she is still going strong. Something to look forward to then, no to shy away from.
I live with this type of thinking too much unfortunately. Today was a bad one. I had to go for a long walk in the cold today try to shake off my second atrial fibrillation episode of the weekend. Fortunately the exercise worked and the 15 hour tumble dryer sensation in my chest reverted to that wonderful feeling of sinus rhythm. Sometimes the episodes aren't too bad or too long, but these were like those from before my first surgery. I've had three.
I've suffered from AF for 28 years or so. Before that I think my worries were mainly about money, security, the health of others in the family, the things we all worry about. Mortality introduced itself to me one Saturday afternoon after a morning at work. I was having bad palpitations all morning and a colleague suggested I leave early and get checked over.
I visited my local A&E really only expecting a couple of tests and sent home with some tablets. I was ushered into a cubicle, attached to machinery and tubes and drugs were administered. Unfortunately, the wrong drugs. I was given adenosine which I later learned from an episode of Casualty is used to slow the heart to almost a standstill. It was terrifying. I was told on subsequent hospital visits it shouldn't be used to treat AF.
I used to write a lot. Drivel mostly. Lyrics, poetry. I don't know if it would actually qualify as such but I found it therapeutic and an outlet for my morbid concerns. I wrote like that for some time but I'm glad it's behind me now.
I'm 66 in exactly one month. State pension time.😁 it's a milestone I'm looking forward to, especially after a rubbish weekend healthwise, but I really need a new focus and direction. Buying guitars and sundry items doesn't hold the same appeal for me anymore and I should really be looking to move some on. A good satisfying distraction away from the year counting obsession which James described so well.
Maybe it will be a great summer this year, and Geddy will hit some surprisingly high notes. The tour will be such a success they will immediately plan a European tour to road test some songs for the new album.
After typing the above dirge I sit here wondering why I'm stalling on my decision to buy a Caterham 7 because they're a bit dangerous.😂🤣
Great, just as the days are noticeably drawing out again...
Weirdly, I posted my LPA for health and welfare and property and financial affairs today. I've been meaning to redo my will for a long long time. It's rather complicated..I need to have a proper think.
I'm constantly thinking about death. I hope I go before my wife and I hope I'm physically able to get around and be mentally agile until I die.
Quote from: captainkurtz on February 02, 2026, 10:13:30 PM........I hope I'm physically able to get around and be mentally agile until I die.
I think that's what we all hope for..........as long as it's a good while from now! :) ;)
Cue Blue Oyster Cult
Quote from: Nick on February 03, 2026, 06:48:52 AMCue Blue Oyster Cult
Need to make a note I need more cowbell at my farewell party.