You too Andrew. I concede you know far more about physics than I do, but I will not yield my superstitional belief in science only being another set of metaphors, ones couched in equations within a bounded system called maths. They are only facts within the hermetically sealed inner logic that guides maths. Whether such logic mimics/mirrors an inner pattern or harmony or arrangement does not forge it as fact or essential truth. I am with Einstein, Luddite that I am, his theories border on a non-theocratic numinosity. "A,B&E", "Not In My Name" and "52FF" (flash fiction anthology) all available on Amazon Kindle

"How a psychopath makes sweet love. I can get you ringside. Royal box even."

I happen to believe, in a primitive sort of way, that there is no reason for the speed of light to be a constant either "A,B&E", "Not In My Name" and "52FF" (flash fiction anthology) all available on Amazon Kindle

"How a psychopath makes sweet love. I can get you ringside. Royal box even."

As to assisted suicide, what is all the fuss about? There are trains, cliffs, sleeping pills, pet snakes, lorries, motorway bridges... All of which will kill you if used correctly.

But then the problem isn't the how but the when.

The problem being that when you are ready to die, it is too late to jump off bridges, step in front of speeding trains, leap off cliffs.

Ie, the problem is not knowing when enough is enough. Which is something that can't be legislated.

My mother came over to England two years ago. She hadn't spoken to her brother for 35 years. But with him dying of prostate cancer, I negotiated a settlement and took full responsibility for there being no fights. It worked.

Whilst in England, she also went to see an old friend who got polio after being married and having two sons. She was in a home in Hastings, up on the mount, the area surrounded by cliffs. She decided to stay there for two or three days, so I left her to it.

On day two, she decided to take her friend for a spin in the wheel chair. My mother is persuasive and the nurses eventually conceded. On one condition. Do NOT, under any circumstances, take the path along the edge of the cliff.

Well, you do NOT say do NOT to my mother.

So off they went, clapped out ol' mrs wrigley pushing the wheel chair. Only pretty soon it was desperate ol' mrs wrigley clinging onto the wheel chair for her dear friend's life.

No, of course the wheel chair didn't take the back door out of hell on earth (having polio in a home in Hastings). Otherwise, it would have been in the news:

"Mad Argie murders disabled mother of two"

It was, however, a close run thing.

So, if anyone is contemplating assisted suicide when they are way past doing it for themselves, check yourself into the home on the hill in Hastings and I will have a word with my mother.

It's called a flying exit.

Andrew Memory... What was that?

I had hoped my references to the cosmic joke of human existence might have disabused you of the above. "A,B&E", "Not In My Name" and "52FF" (flash fiction anthology) all available on Amazon Kindle

"How a psychopath makes sweet love. I can get you ringside. Royal box even."

A thousand years ago the priests and monks knew that the Earth was the centre of the universe, that Jerusalem was the centre of a flat Earth and that the whole lot was made in six days by God. Is it possible that in another thousand years quantum scientists will seem just as archaic? Now, I need to sit down.