May Day 2017

It’s an overcast, grey morning as I reflect on the latest year without John F on the planet. And it has been a strange one, with plenty of opportunities to regret that he has not been with us for four years now.

The biggie, of course, is the US Presidential election.

With hindsight, whilst it was clear so many of the pundits consistently got the potential for Trump winning wrong, I think John would have predicted it, and predicted it early. His approach to elections – no election was complete without a spreadsheet or two mapping the swing states and heartlands – was (of course) totally evidence based. By following the evidence, he would steer away from personal bias and wishful thinking; whilst no doubt staunchly supporting Hillary, he would have spotted the fault lines through which Trump would ooze, even when every liberal around him was saying it just “couldn’t” happen. And on election night he would’ve gently nodded to himself – his version of a “told you so” dance – whilst cursing the stupidity of swathes of voters.

Okay, so John wouldn’t have been able to have stopped the outcome, but I’m sure he would have helped a bunch of us better understand what was actually coming down the line.

John would’ve loved the release of the Frank Zappa for President album, with its version of “When the lie’s so big” and a prescient interview with Frank about how he’d approach running for President. His reflection that the media would come to him for comment on anything and everything as the outsider, meaning he’d garner masses of free publicity as a non-partisan candidate seems so obvious now.

And then there’s been a year of health “stuff”… those times when many of us miss John’s calm analysis, always built on research, to help better understand not only our conditions, but the treatments we are offered, could be taking and indeed should be taking. Whether it was something as scary as Mark’s cancer scares which thankfully seem have been seen off, despite some residual “necrotic tissue” (mis-read by me as “neurotic” tissue, which seemed a very New York condition to get, and one which would have tickled John), or my own much more predictable Dupuytren’s contracture diagnosis, it is at these times many of us miss being able to send an email or make a call to John to splurge our limited understanding of what might be going on, then, about 24 hours later, get the inevitable detailed, clear report on what is actually likely happening.

Finally of course, there is the music – one of my strong connections with John. I like to think he would have wanted to see PJ Harvey in New York again with me last year (and if not, I know he would’ve indulged me and come along, like in 2006!) He would have loved the Lazarus show, with Michael C Hall et al belting out re-worked Bowie classics in an other-worldly sequel to The Man Who Fell To Earth. And I wonder if, on the back of Trey Anastasio of Phish’s successful outing with the remainder of Grateful Dead a couple of years ago, he would’ve grudgingly given Phish another shot.

In the UK, May 1^st has been the traditional first day of Summer since the time of the Romans. In 2017 we have a more eclectic mix of Morris Dancers, championship snooker on the TV, local election canvassing (Thursday will likely see the routing of Labour as a pre-cursor to next month’s general election) and traditional bank holiday naff weather. In the mix of this, there will be time to raise a shot of tequila to John – to curse him not being here, to toast his enduring influence, and to remember how he enriched so many lives.

Miss you, John.

Three years on...

Me with John in Estepona 14 years ago

Three years on from John’s death, and I’m reflecting on the different ways different people miss loved ones.

For some, even after a thousand days, life without John still makes no sense. The disbelief that he is somehow not in this world anymore has not dimmed, despite that time passing. For others, the world has begun to adjust and weave its way around the various John-shaped holes that glaringly exist.

I tend to miss John in two ways: when I remember times and places where he had been (such as the holiday in Estepona in the photo above), and when I have experiences I want to share with him. And, wholly predictably, many of these times of missing accumulate around politics, music, and the idiocy of humanity, sometimes in combination.

For example, this last year of British politics has had many bizarre moments that would have intrigued, excited, puzzled and tickled John. The election of Jeremy Corbyn as Labour leader would, I think, have delighted him. An old school socialist with compassion and an eclectic dress sense (Corbyn, not Falkenberg) taking the fight to the increasingly rabid posh-boy Tories, and the subsequent systemic “snatching defeat from the jaws of victory” activities of disgruntled MPs. The continuing decimation of the NHS by Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt (who was memorably renamed, much to John’s delight, by James Naughtie on the BBC’s flagship morning radio news programme a few years previously when he was Culture Secretary). The rise of the right and the xenophobia, racism and fear it brings with it.

The US Republican presidential candidate selection process – a delicious slow train-smash of political self-destruction – is somehow drab without the sharp-tongued, insightful analysis that John would have brought. He would have predicted the order of candidates falling beneath the Trump juggernaut, and would have been the only person to have been able to explain to me not just what could happen at the Republican convention, but to lay good odds on the outcome. And I suspect the apparent rise of “Trump the politician” would have been the year’s combination of idiocy and politics for John.

There have been some remarkable comings and goings in my world of music this year, and I missed not speaking with John about them. Seeing David Gilmour live again would have warranted a conversation about the reworking of old classics. The new PJ Harvey album (including its misrepresented reportage about parts of Washington DC) would have likely interested him, but I know he would have engaged with me on it, having shared that PJ Harvey gig in New York with me ten years ago. The death of Bowie, just after the release of the superlative Blackstar, would have been a big discussion point (as indeed, the death of Victoria Wood would have too, but for very different reasons).

But it is often in the mundane that John can reappear most poignantly:

Yotam Ottolenghi’s latest recipe book, Nopi: the cookbook, contains some of the dishes John ate when we were there with Kenneth and Barbara-Anne in its early days. It’s sad that John can’t have a go at my versions of some of them, given he so enjoyed Ottolenghi’s food, including my go-to dish, spiced red lentils.

I am currently slowly working my way through my vinyl record collection (in alphabetical order by artist, and chronologically within each artist, of course; it’s not OCD, it’s just correct) and every now and then I land on one of John’s albums, such as his well-worn copy of Garcia. Two Mahavishnu Orchestra records, Apocalypse and Visions of the emerald beyond, were the most recent – intriguing segues between the world of hard core jazz and blissed out rock and another link between John’s world of music and my own. (His introduction to the Grateful Dead through burned CDs with their black and white printed covers – still in my collection – led me to the world of Phish and a whole new world of stoner rock, though I suspect last year’s Dead tour with Phish’s Trey Anastasio stepping in for Garcia would not have gone down well with John.)   

I have replaced two iPod speaker docks this year because of their FPOS short shelf life. Neither one was thrown against a wall in a fit of Falkenbergesque catharsis, but they were well-cursed nevertheless.

It is in these small, ordinary things that John can feel most missed, but also most remembered.

So here we are, three years on since John’s untimely death, and the world continues to go to hell in a hand-basket without his physical presence. But his influence, memory and impact continue to exist, to play out in my life and that of so many others.

I’ll be raising a thankful glass to him and remembering the privilege it was to have him as a friend.

"A year ago today/ Was when you went away" ("Go cry on somebody else's shoulder", Freak Out! Frank Zappa, 1966)

Whilst the rest of the song is not particularly appropriate, the opening line is apt, especially as it is from one of John F's favourite periods of Zappa.

The passing of time is strange, and its impact on grief doubly so.

I've lost count of the days I've thought John's death on May 1st last year has only just happened; yet simultaneously have lost count of the days I've thought it has been so long since I last spoke with him.

Whilst most of the time now I don't get far into the sentence "I must email John about..." before remembering, and just making up his response in my head, it does catch me unawares occasionally still. And there have been many things I've been sad not to share with him this last 365 days.

The premiere of 200 Motels in London is one of the most bittersweet, as he was supposed to be in the seat next to me, laughing along at the total freak out that the performance was. But other events - some milestones, some insignificant - resonate too:

·      changing jobs without being able to share some of challenge and joy of getting out of one organisation and into another

·      the serious illness and death of other loved ones

·      the craziness of UK politics and politicians

·      the utter craziness of US politics and politicians

·      the fucked up utter craziness of US gun laws amidst dispiritingly familiar and, as a result, often shamefully un-shocking massacres

·      the fucking piece of shit fucked up coverage of Fox on any of the above three points

·      that rare recording when Frank Zappa joined Pink Floyd on stage for a performance of Interstellar Overdrive

·      eating in restaurants he loved

·      cooking dishes he loved

·      losing the fucking piece of shit plot with the latest iTunes upgrade that resulted in losing access to some treasured (dodgy) downloads now hard to find

·      discussing whether or not Breaking Bad lived up to its Sopranos comparisons

·      the royal family touring Australia (hysterical)

·      a Jon Stewart sketch

·      any number of medical conditions and medications of friends and family

·      etc

And I have often found myself having internal conversations with my John voice (many of us carry one) about the nature of bereavement and loss.

I know the sense and magnitude of the loss I feel at John being dead (I initially wrote "John not being here" but changed it - he wasn't a man for cloudy euphemisms). And I can't really comprehend the scale of the loss of others who had different relationships with him: friends over decades, his family, and, particularly today, his Kenneth. Kenneth's strength in acknowledging, facing and dealing with his grief whilst feeling it, hating it, even sometimes drawing comfort from it's visceral reminders, has been immense. To cling on to a perilous narrow outcrop of "this will pass" as the waves of bereavement and loss crash tsunami-like when unexpected, again, and again, and again, is incredibly powerful. And I know John would have been so proud of him.

One of the absolute FPOS about this last year has been other deaths that have hit. I’ve experienced the death of Barbara-Anne’s dad, my father in law, Tommy (whose ability, even in final stages of secondary cancers, to respond straight-faced to a “How are you feeling?” question with a light “Aye, fine!” would have made John laugh). Others in John’s circle have had painful family bereavements. A good friend of mine’s mother died recently. Each of these other deaths not only carried their own grief and sadness, but managed a grim harmonic resonance with the grief of John’s death.

I'm not a big one for anniversaries. (I like to think my generally internally-focused reflective thinking is something John "got" and perhaps recognised.) But I intend playing my “John” playlist on repeat all day on May 1st (yes, I've set up my new office so I can listen to my music without disturbing others and yet enhancing my environment – he would have approved) and will do my best to “FPOS” at every opportunity I can.

And I’ll raise a glass of something in the evening – maybe a pretentiously described wine (John thought sommeliers were charlatans) or perhaps tequila on ice with lime – in memory of a good man.

Music to remember a man by

It’s now six weeks since my dear friend John died. That six weeks apparently has magical powers. Sometimes it shortens so much as to feel like it was just yesterday when he died; and at other times it expands so much as to feel like it has become another, parallel world.

One of the ways I try to make sense of – and cope with – the world is through music. There are so many great artists out there who have just the right words, just the right sound, provoke just the right memory, and I find comfort in their art.

During one of my “dips” a couple of weekends back, I decided it was time to do A John F Playlist. Because there are songs that remind me of him; there are songs he loved; there are songs that say something appropriate. Of course, the 34-track long-list has had to be honed down so that it could fit on a CD. There were some great “almost but not quite” tracks that didn’t survive the cull: PJ Harvey’s Silence, Tim Minchin’s Not Perfect, Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus amongst others. But I like what has survived and wanted to share.

1. The Flaming Lips Do You Realize?? (Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots)

This is the gut-punching reality hitter:

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize - we're floating in space -
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die

Yup. FPOS or what? And yet, it is a beautiful song, managing a strong thread through its fragility.

2. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds The Weeping Song (The Good Son)

This one just captures the sadness that has pervaded John’s circle of family, friends and acquaintances.

This is a weeping song
A song in which to weep
While we rock ourselves to sleep.

There is always – seemingly – enough sadness for one more cry. I don’t know if John knew Cave’s music, but I do know he laughed at some of the outrageous selective quotes I told from The Death Of Bunny Munro as I read it at Long Beach one summer.

3. Eels It’s A Motherfucker (Daisies Of The Galaxy)

Another simple, beautiful, reality checker:

It's a motherfucker
Being here without you
Thinking 'bout the good times
Thinking 'bout the bad
And I won't ever be the same

Mark Everett knows loss, and knows sometimes it just can’t be dressed up, be smoothed out, be varnished. It just is, and that can be a motherfucker alright.

4. Gong The Pot Head Pixies (Flying Teapot (Radio Gnome Invisible Part I))

This makes me laugh, and remember another side of times with John. Nuff said.

5. Bob Dylan Political World (Oh Mercy)

As Bob sings:

We live in a political world   

and I miss John in my political world. Hardly a political day goes by without my wondering “What would John have thought?” and sometimes having a good idea of the answer, but often not. I watched a bit of the UK House of Lords debate on the equal marriage proposals and remembered John’s delight at getting dinner at the Lords and a tour of parliament a good few years back. He loved the over-the-top pomp and glitz, and the ludicrous history there (the Queen’s robing room had him in stitches). And he would have found Lord Tebbit’s ludicrous speech (with its fear of a “lesbian Queen on the throne”) as hysterically laughable and nastily vitriolic in pretty equal measure.

6. Frank Zappa Half A Dozen Provocative Squats (200 Motels)  

John’s favourite Zappa lyric which he would sing out loud as he danced around the apartment:

Out of the shower she squeezes her spots

Brushes her teeth

Shoots a deoderant spray up her twot

It made him laugh, and made me laugh too.

7. Bomb The Bass Bug Powder Dust (Clear)

Extolling the world of William Burroughs

I think it’s time to discuss your philosophy of drug use as it relates to artistic endeavour

I just remember John through this. He knew more about medication than anyone else I've known, and shared his expertise with great care and thoughtfulness. His ability to research possible treatments for whatever was ailing those he loved, and to explain what might be going on in ways that were at once understandable is something I miss. Oh, and he would have liked the references to

            Mugwump jism

8. Original Stage Cast Frank Mills (Hair!)

Simply John’s favourite song from Hair!, and his favourite version.

9. Julian Cope The Black Sheep’s Song (Black Sheep)

I don’t know that John ever heard this, but it reminds me of him, and of me and him.

I am the black sheep of this flock
And I can answer to no one.
I see you are the black sheep of your flock, too,
Methinks it takes one to know one.

 I loved my conversations with John when we were both seemingly thinking and believing the same things about the world, black sheep in the flock together.

10. Peter Gabriel Don’t Give Up (So)

This captures the loving group of friends that surrounded John. He cultivated good friends, partly because of his loyalty, honesty and utter commitment to others, and partly because he engendered the same in his friends. It reminds me that John’s intense self-sufficiency was bolstered by his knowledge that there were many who he could turn to, if push came to shove.

11. Tom Waits I Don’t Wanna Grow Up (Bone Machine)

Whilst I don’t remember ever seeing John dancing around singing this, I picture him doing just that when I hear it! And I think it captures something of the spirit of John who, in meeting Kenneth, actually did “grow up”, as he reflected on it.

12. The Proclaimers Letter From America (This Is The Story)

John loved Scotland. I treasure a holiday we did with him and Kenneth, remembering climbing the top road above Tarbert and looking down on the harbour and how relaxing it was for John. And me and him going to get chips on a Hogmanay evening in Glasgow. And his love of the “hairy coos”!

13. Original Stage Cast The Flesh Failures (Let The Sunshine In) (Hair!)

Okay, so one of my own desert island discs, this, but somehow Hair! needed a second representation.

Singing our space songs on a spider web sitar
Life is around you and in you

 The joy and sadness this brings me every time I hear it mirrors the joy and sadness I feel when thinking of John.

14. E.S.T. Believe, Beleft, Below (Seven Days Of Falling)

Another one of my desert island ones, this is just about the most perfect four and bit minutes of lush jazz imaginable. Esbjörn Svensson, the pianist who led this trio, also died far too early. But in this piece I feel he found the elusive link between pure music and the soul.

15. David Bowie Heroes (Heroes)

This is one of those tracks I recently heard and immediately thought “That’s John”.

We can be heroes, just for one day

I don’t think it is an overstatement to call him a hero. The changes he made in the lives of so many were heroic. The way in which he lived his no compromise life was heroic. His capacity to care was heroic. His thinking was heroic.

16. Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here (Wish You Were Here (Experience edition))

How, how I wish you were here

That sums it up. The version (as John would indulge me in this) has, of course, to be the right one. Not the one from the special edition half-speed mastered vinyl album I bought in a now-defunct New York store. Not the standard album version. But the one sought after for decades by Floyd-heads and finally released as part of the Experience edition. This has the legendary Stephane Grappelli violin improvisations in it, and they bring another layer of poignancy to an already perfect track.

So that’s my John F Playlist. I think he would have liked it as a compilation album, though would not have agreed with all my rationales for the choices. But I know he would have known how much love had gone into pulling it together, and would have (quietly) enjoyed that.

Some reflections on a friend

Flying to New York because of the death of a dear friend is the worst reason to come here. And here I am. Because dear John Falkenberg has died.

Having spent the last 24 hours with his husband, Kenneth, and a wonderful group of John’s closest friends and John’s parents and siblings, I am struck by the absolute privilege it has been to have had John in my life, and to have been a part of his.

John F was the man who introduced me to “FPOS”. His personal acronym for “fucking piece of shit” – a phrase that never loses the satisfaction of its utterance, however many times it is repeated and in whatever context. Traffic. Politics. Airlines. Customer service. Weather. Food. People. Software. It can all be a fucking piece of shit. I find it cathartic.

John F is the only person I have known who actually did throw pieces of mis-functioning hardware at walls. Whether phones or printers, those fucking pieces of shit did get thrown. It’s what they deserved.

John F was my favourite person to talk politics with. Whether UK or US politics, the man knew his stuff; he could read political runes well, and understood economic impact on domestic and international politics in a way I would just listen and learn from. And he hated fucking idiot, fucking hypocrite, fucking racist, fucking homophobic, fucking gun-toting, fucking idiot politicians with a delicious zeal. Cross-Atlantic phone-calls in the midst of election campaigns were particularly important. We’d share our elation, disgust or utter outrage as results came through. John’s pre-election night State-by-State analysis of the second Obama election (yes, there was a spreadsheet of scenarios and tallies) helped my engagement with, and understanding of, what turned out to be one of the elation nights. And his level of disbelief at the disgrace of the UK coalition being formed and somehow surviving was great fun. One of the last politics conversations I had with him was about the coalition tax and benefit changes that kicked in in April. He could not understand why there was no rioting on UK streets. “No, seriously, why isn’t it happening?”

I loved John’s music collection. I proudly have and play a number of original US sleeve vinyl albums of his. He introduced me to the Grateful Dead. He loved Hair! as much as I do. And he was a Frank Zappa fan. What’s not to like about all that? Seeing Hair! in the open air theatre in Central Park was a shared highlight. As was he and me seeing Dweezil Zappa’s Zappa Plays Zappa show on Long Island. And he queued for 90 minutes with me outside New York’s Beacon Theatre in 2006 to get front row seats for a PJ Harvey solo set – an example of his love of me perhaps more than his love of PJ.

John laughed at my jokes, which can never be a bad thing in my book. I have an email trail with him as the new pope was being elected and there was some earnest discussion of the possible name he might take. My suggestion of “Popus Cuntiflex” tickled John greatly.

The days, months and years ahead will be less rich without John F. In particular, the debut UK performance of 200 Motels in October which he was so looking forward to coming to will now be a sad memorial. But somehow, in the midst of the grief, I was reminded of Lawrence M Krauss’ quote that “Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded….was created in the nuclear furnaces of stars”. I have a deep sense of sadness that another nuclear furnace of a star has been lost.

And yes, John F’s death is a fucking piece of shit.

Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life. - Jean Paul Richter

I’ve been listening to a lot of music recently and found myself reflecting on the range of artists who I had also seen live at some point over the last 34 years. Here’s a list of all the ones I can remember. (I’m sure there are more, and certainly there are some festival performers I – and the musical world – have forgotten totally.) I’ve star-rated them; where I’ve seen the act more the once the ratings are in order of appearances. It’s too big an ask to identify dates for them all, though I do have a fair few programmes, ticket stubs and other memorabilia relating to lots of the gigs.

As a result of this retrospective on live music, I feel privileged to have seen many of the acts. Quite a few no longer perform or have disbanded. A number of performers have died.

The three big live music regrets I have are:

1. Not going to see Led Zeppelin at Knebworth in 1979

2. Not seeing Bob Marley on his Uprising tour in 1980

3. Choosing to see Teardrop Explodes instead of Stiff Little Fingers in 1983 (Julian Cope hated the rest of the band, was touring only for contractual reasons, wouldn’t play his hits, and Stiff Little Fingers split that year)

There’s a clear rock leaning in this list, with very little that might be called punk or pop.  And there are many gigs that I remember as being just fantastic nights of entertainment, hence so many four- and five-star ratings. And one or two turkeys.

Here’s the list – if anyone reading it can remember any I’ve forgotten, let me know!

Daevid Allen ****

Tori Amos ****

Joan Armatrading ***

Jeff Beck ***

Big Country ***

Black Sabbath ** (Ian Gillan on vocals – awful)

Carla Bley ****

Blue Oyster Cult ***

David Bowie *****

Billy Bragg ****

Chris de Burgh ***; ** (I know, I know)

Camel ****

Eric Clapton ***

Alice Cooper *****; *****

Julian Cope *****; ****; ****

The Cramps *****

Deep Freeze Mice ****

Divine ** (Lots of miming, but somehow fitted)

Bob Dylan ** (Had his back to the audience for most of the show)

Eels *****; ***; *****; ****

The Enid ****

Eurythmics ***** (Small venue just after they’d hit stardom)

David Gilmour *****

Gong *****; ****

Steve Hackett ***

Roy Harper ****; ****

PJ Harvey *****; *****; *****; *****; *****

Hawkwind *****

The Housemartins ***

Neil Innes ****

Jethro Tull *****; *****; ****; ***;

Elton John ***

Kerfuffle *****

Lindisfarne ****; ***

Little Steven & The Disciples Of Soul *****

Marillion *; ***

Ralph McTell ***

Liza Minnelli ***; *****; *****

Van Morrison ***

Dolly Parton ****

Pendragon ***

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers ***

Pink Floyd *****; *****; ****; *****

Pretenders ***

Prince ***; *****

Q-Tips *

Suzi Quatro ***

Eddi Reader *****; *****; ****; ****

John Schofield ** (I didn’t ‘get’ jazz at the time)

Andy Sheppard ****

Jane Siberry ** (Only performed one song from the half a dozen albums I have)

Siouxsie & The Banshees *****

Sky ***

Jimmy Somerville ***

Spiritualised ***

Bruce Springsteen *****

Steel Pulse **

The Stranglers ***; *****; ****

System 7 ***

Teardrop Explodes ****; *

Thin Lizzy ***

Tina C *****; ****

U2 ** (Tedious)

UFO ** (More Spinal Tap than Spinal Tap)

Stevie Ray Vaughan **

Tom Waits *****

The Waterboys ***

Roger Waters *****; *****; ***

Wishbone Ash **

Neil Young *****

The Who ****

Dweezil Zappa ****

Frank Zappa *****

Reflections on Terry Pratchett's Choosing to die

Today has been a little strange re assisted death.

Last night the BBC showed Sir Terry Pratchett’s documentary about assisted death, which included him being present at the death of one man (Peter) at the Dignitas clinic in Switzerland, and having a final conversation with another who chose to end his life there.

However, today’s first couple of hours for me included listening to Radio 4’s Today programme and a debate between a woman with cancer, Christine Jackson, and The Right Reverend Michael Nazir-Ali, ex-Bishop of Rochester. This included the pious Nazir-Ali patronizingly telling Ms Jackson that she shouldn’t worry about her death, as medicine means she can feel no pain at the end – one of many answers to a question other than that he was asked that he gave. The Right Reverend managed to ignore the debate about the individual to reflect observations about family – including a bold statement that the impact of an assisted death has a greater impact on those left behind than any other death might, with no evidence to support this ludicrous claim – then, when the discussion was about family took it to a bland, Christian version of society, and his perceived negative impact of assisted death upon its construct. And the Right Reverend’s snidey dismissal of Pratchett’s emotional acknowledgement of Peter being a “brave man” (by comparing his bravery with that of Iraq veterans) was, frankly, beneath a so-called man of the cloth.

Alongside his patronizing of Ms Jackson, which ignored her concerns about the quality of her life, as she experiences it (rather than others might, niaively, observe it), Nazir-Ali also criticised the BBC for not taking the opportunity to present a “balanced programme” on assisted death. Basically, he castigated them for the programme not being a different one: it did not fully present the views of family members; it did not present the “other side” of the argument – as if all BBC programmes should be similarly balanced.

I look forward to Songs of Praise coming from a Satanist coven next weekend.

This evening I watched the programme Sir Terry had made, and it was profound.

I come at this as someone who is not a stranger to death, nor to others’ thoughts and desires for control over the end of their life:

- I remember my maternal grandfather dying of “complications” following abdominal surgery – to this day I believe that, had he been 20 years younger, there would have been a very different approach to the pain he articulated as he died a horrible death from internal bleeding following a botched operation;

- I remember my maternal grandmother dying with acute Alzheimer’s disease (the same disease Pratchett has) that left her unable to recognise her only daughter and in a daily state of panic and fear about a world she did not understand;

- I remember my father living and breathing artificially whilst waiting for me to make a 24-hour journey from deep in Eastern Europe to say my goodbye. And, 30 minutes after I arrived, him pulling at the oxygen mask that had kept him alive for the previous 12 hours saying, “I’m ready”, then having the mask replaced by hospital staff. And I remember me helping him remove it in response to his gestured request, and keeping it from his airways as he once again implored to have the mask taken from his face. Then he died;

- And I have experienced someone collapsing on me, having total renal failure and – literally – dying in my arms; a virtual stranger with whom I shared his last living breath.

I have known over 20 friends and acquaintances who have died.

And I have friends with terminal illnesses, and with severe disability for whom a good day is a day when the physical pain is manageable enough to be able to forget about it long enough to read a few pages of a book.

For me, the crux of the programme was about the need for a legal, moral, safe way for an individual to be helped end her or his life at a time of their own choosing if, in their opinion, their life was no longer worth living. A framework for well-managed assisted death, so as to avoid a much worse death in the future.

Dignity in Dying has long campaigned for a change in the law, and I support that change. Theirs is for a careful legal development to enable someone terminally ill (yes, there are clear ways in which to determine such a diagnosis) and of sound mind to decide to have their life ended with professional assistance. I fully support such a change in the law, and, seeing Pratchett’s programme, feel all the stronger in this conviction.

Let’s be clear – such a law may have helped Peter, given his condition. It would not have helped Andrew and, whilst I feel personally conflicted about that, I nevertheless recognise the need for the safeguards that a law focused on the terminal ill would give.

It is an outrage that I could, if I needed to, have a vet come and administer drugs that would kill one of my cats if she or he was terminally ill and in suffering. I would be able to feed them their favourite fish or treats one last time and hold them how they like to be held as they breathed their last, knowing they had a less painful death than they would otherwise have had. And yet, my friend with an eventually life-taking disease, or another friend with incremental disability can currently be afforded no such professionally supported and dignified death in the UK.

If you have not seen Terry Pratchett: Choosing to die, I urge you to take whatever fortification you need and watch. At the end, I hope you would – through your tears - choose to join Dignity in Dying (http://www.dignityindying.org.uk/) and support their campaign for a change in the law in the UK.