In the next day or two I shall do a summary of obituaries of James Callaghan, the first Prime Minister I really remember. (Natural Law dictates Maggie will be next...)
I shall be closely monitoring the health of the Pope and of Prince Rainier of Monaco, both of whom are clearly on their last legs, if that, and have handed over the reins of power. But our Guest Bloggers predict that the next death will be someone completely unexpected. I am loath to make predictions in such cases.
When I worked for a certain West Inner London Borough that incorporated the names of two towns that weren't Kensington and Chelsea, I explained the Rules of Celebrity Dead Pool to some of my colleagues. After lunch they had a meeting - from which I , as a contractor, was excluded. On my way to the Smoking Room I passed Pensions who were ululating the death of Jill Dando, a tragic event confirmed in the Smoking Room.
When the chaps emerged from their meeting, I broke the news to them. At first they didn't believe me - I could only say it was true that I had heard from Pensions and Smoking. My heartbroken manager rushed out to buy an Evening Standard, and when it became clear the story was true, I was held personally responsible, especially when it later transpired I had spent much of my lunch break following in her footsteps.
One night in the pub I was saying how much I admired Dirk Bogarde, even thogh I was far from knowledgable about him. I got home and checked Ceefax to find he had died. I made a habit of checking Ceefax, because one Saturday night I had been out drinking with a friend who had come back to my place for more drink and talking, and had finally left at three. I had considered checking Ceefax to see if there was any news. Then I thought, nothing that wouldn't wait until morning.
In the morning, hung over, I stumbled out to the newsagent primarily to buy a lottery ticket to send my sister for her birthday. I had a look at the newspapers which all bore the headline "Diana injured in car crash" except for those that said she was dead. Appalled, I turned to the newsagent, Jay, and said "These tabloids are outrageous". He said, no, it's true. I remained sceptical and decided to check out Ceefax when I got home. I switched on the TV and, fortuitously, there was a news bulletin on BBC1. Turned out to be an hours long news bulletin. Although as Helen remarked, she was tempted to ask "Is she still dead?". What was weird, of course, was that no one in Coronation Street mentioned it. You'd think they'd have noticed...
My sister had celebrated her birthday on the Saturday night. From her friends she had received the video "Charles: A Man Alone". Later she was commenting she had already bought those friends a Christmas present - a Diana Doll with six interchangeable outfits. She wondered whether it was in good taste to give it. Our Mother, in the single example of her ever cracking a joke said, "Oh, just include a shroud with it..."
Joseph, meanwhile, annoyed at missing Teletubbies, had taken one look at footage of Camilla on a horse and had declared "Moo!".
