Low life
Jogging along
Jeffrey Bernard
when the lease of this body I live in ex- pires 1 hope to be buried in Canada. It was there, a few days ago, that a gravedigger was sacked for being too cheer- ful. Apparently he whistled and hummed while acting as a pall-bearer at a cemetery. Another time he held up a skull to his col- leagues, while they were shifting remains from one grave to another, wearing a large grin on his face. 1 like it. I know I shall go to the grave kicking and screaming but there's no need for anybody else to join in the hysteria. Mind you, what these people actually whistle is quite important. I'd prefer to go out to 'Goodnight Ladies' than 'I Know That My Redeemer Liveth', because I know no such thing. Anyway, the vicar of Chaddleworth once told me that I was beyond redemption. A pretty shitty thing for a vicar to say, by the way, but he had been at the Bells. (Appropriately, their slogan on their labels is 'Afore Ye Go' and I'd like to suggest to the Smirnoff people that they adopt 'Just the One' as their slogan.)
Yes, what with all the recent digs, I've been more than usually preoccupied with death. The other night I had one of the worst attacks of angst I've ever suffered. I was utterly exhausted but I didn't dare close my eyes so convinced was 1 that if I did then I'd never wake up again. But, as you can see, I did, and to the good news of the jolly gravedigger. The bad news was an article about how to achieve longevity, jogging, health food, taking care of one's body and all the rest of that area of nonsense. I do wish people would stop telling me what I 'ought' to do. It's so bloody Ger- manic.
Anyway, we elected a new member to the low life hall of fame last week — the jazz man who died aged 100. Just before he snuffed it, on the actual birthday itself, he uttered the immortal words, ' if I'd known I was going to live this long I would have taken better care of myself.' Marvellous stuff. He'd smoked from the age of six and all his life he'd refused to drink water. Now that's what I call a marathon and it puts this smoker since 14 and Perrier addict firmly in my place.. Quite obviously our hero. must have carefully avoided free-range corn flakes and any form of exercise for 100 years. As I've said before just what the hell do these health freaks want to get fit for? Cranks is a damned good name for a health food chain and, by God, don't the customers therein look absolutely ghastly? Joggers too, like militant feminists, tend to look pretty unattractive and a three-mile canter isn't going to turn a toad into a prince. I can suddenly visualise Cyril Con- nolly filling up with meusli, donning shorts and then running round the park, and it's ridiculous. I think jogging might be rather like listening to pop music on earphones all day in so far as both occupations relieve their mindless followers of the burden of actually having to think.
There are far less strenuous ways of avoiding constructive thought, such as reading the Sun, masturbating or listening to Norman Balon on the subject of the Mid- dle East. Jogging, eating bran and most forms of abstinence are about a futile effort to avoid death. I remember Maurice Richardson once telling me, 'I don't read the obituaries any more. Death has lost its charm for me.' If only he'd lived to read about the Canadian gravedigger. Perhaps the reaper isn't so grim. I'd like to think that one day our man in Toronto — if he gets another job — will hold up my petrified pancreas to his mates, positively wreathed in smiles. I had intended to leave my body to the hepatic experts of the Royal Free Hospital, not to further science but to relieve Norman of the burden of a whip round in the Coach for the funeral ex- penses. But now it has to be a single to Canada, a perch in a cosy bar and then a wait. Life is a waiting room anyway. Sometimes I think I can hear the station an- nouncer: 'Owing to an unforseen fault — a strong constitution — and a refusal to take the timetable seriously, death will not arrive until tomorrow.' And, as far as waiting rooms go, it's not too bad. There are plenty of cigarette machines, plenty of steaks, ice cream, chocolate cakes, booze and you don't have to eat the nut cutlets or jog up and down the platform. Yes, tomorrow will do.
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