The great comfort to fans, friends and family of Steve Irwin and Peter Brock seems to be that they died doing what they loved.
Why is that a comfort?
When I die, I don’t want to be doing what I love – that would kind of wreck it for me you know?
It would mean dying before I finish the end of my current novel – how irritating would that be?!
I’d rather die doing something like the dishes after winning a national bridge tournament – or falling asleep and dying AFTER making love to my beloved – or karking it just as I’m about to sit down to doing budgets at work or paying bills or having a meeting with the teacher about my child’s bad behaviour or maybe popping my clogs just as I go out to finally clean the pool or clear the gutters or vacuum the carpet. But in the middle of doing what I love? Nup. That’s not for me.