"Which of those cooks? - y'know the two fat ladies - which of them gave the cookery demonstration in Edinburgh a few weeks ago?" I enquired.
"The one who isn't dead", my wife replied.
"Which one is that?" I persisted.
"Clarissa Dickson-Wright" she confirmed.
Obvious, when you come to think of it. Not her name. That's a bit fancy. I mean her not being dead. It's a prerequisite for most things - certainly for cookery demonstrations - that you're not yet dead.
Being dead has its place of course - a 'final resting' place. So when people say, "We're all going to the same place," they're kind of right. We are all going to be dead one day - the day after our last.
Death is where we finish up, but it's also where we come from. Out of all those millions of spermatozoa, one survives. Millions die - and one survives. Not being dead is the exception - the single exception.