On death

Having written rather dramatically to my MP confidently asserting my most likely forms of untimely death would not be through terrorism, and posted it up below, during a rather boring journey home (Virgin's music channels having been switched off for reasons unknown), my thoughts, quite naturally, turned morbid.

How ironic, the papers would unimaginitively say, when, after being blown up on the Pendolino into Euston, the hacks unimaginitely looked up me up on Google to find White Llama here as the cyber-memorial to a life often wasted online. 'Look', they will sneer. 'There she was defending the rights of terrorists on the interweb and then one of the bastards slipped his electronic noose and blew her up. I bet she won't be defending them now!' The hacks will chortle, inwardly making a mental note not to let Melanie Philips actually put that in her column this week.

Well, my morbid little mind thought I should put up a response in advance. Should my blase indifference to the terrorist threat lead almost directly to my explosion, don't be using my name to justify your next sweep of draconian legislation. You're probably much more likely to use the name of a tragic child, but should you be scraping the barrel on photogenic victims and feel the picture that the hacks will inevitably use from the BBC website successfully sums up Wasted Youth, well don't. Dedicate me to peace or ending world poverty or something instead.

Anyway, enough to feed fate with. That's two posts touching on death in a row [actually, the other one's in draft and is probably too self indulgent to go up - yes, there are quality controls!] Bring on Spring, for goodness sake.