Give My Regards to Grim

If, like me, you long since give up on the idea of both god(s) and any kind of afterlife, death plays a different role in your thinking than it may do for others.

Naturally, at times it can be bloody terrifying. The thought that life is merely a short spell of existence free from the dark abyss of nothingness that bookends it all can be enough to make you wish you were back being rocked in the arms of your mother. Which would be ridiculous, of course, as I’m six foot five and she’s tiny. The idea just isn't practical - believe me, I've tried*.

Reminders can be everywhere. On the bus home yesterday, I passed a bowling green in Levenshulme. Now, for those unfamiliar, this kind of bowling isn't the sexy, high-octane kind as faithfully portrayed in both Kingpin and The Big Lebowski. No. It’s a rather sedate game generally played by old people in summer. Bizarrely, its broadcast on the BBC and a few years ago, a buxom young lady streaked at a tournament. I took this as a move by the organisers to show that the sport could be young and sexy. But it failed miserably. Everybody knows bowls is a game for your grandparents. Not my grandparents, though. My grandpops preferred horse racing and watching Colombo while my nan always had a soft spot for The Price is Right when it was presented by Leslie Crowther.

Digression aside, at the side of the bowling green I passed was a large advertisement for a funeral director. Now, I know Bill Hicks pretty much had people in advertising as the lowest form of life, but you have to say that this was an example of getting right into your market. Some poor old timer will be there, trying to get right on the jack and they look up to be reminded of their soon-to-be expiration while the business hopes they’ll think “well, I may snuff it soon, but I really must check out their rates before that happens.”

With all of us awaiting our dance with the reaper, I, we, must seize the day, apparently, to find meaning in a meaningless universe. A approach of "we're all going to die, so experience life in its many forms" seems a reasonable way to approach matters. But I can't help but think I’m going wrong somewhere – people I know plan travelling, having families and other adventures. I, on the other hand, think “I hope I don't die before Mass Effect 3 comes out, or before the football season ends”. At times, it seems as if I'm missing out.

And yet, perhaps not. The idea of slogging around Asia or South America with a backpack may well be fun for a lot of people. Indeed, I can understand the appeal of visiting ancient monuments and seeing amazing scenery. It just seems a lot of hard work, though, when I'd much rather be sponged over a sofa in my boxer shorts watching the latest series of Psych. It makes me think that perhaps I'm lucky in a way, to be content with what seems relatively so little, and I'm comforted even more by knowing that I'm not a tabloid journalist, weeping myself to sleep every night from the knowledge that I pissed away my time on earth writing dubious captions for pictures of some young actress showing a bit of cleavage.

All the same, I'd like to encourage the governments of the world to invest as much money as possible in teleportation technology, as it would allow idle gits such as me to travel without the actual mither of travelling, which is quite possibly one of the most tedious things a person can do, unless you own a Ferrari. Just putting that one out there, in case Barry Obama or Vlad “The Lad” Putin is reading.

*Said in an attempt at comic effect. My mother isn't even that tiny, she's five foot seven.