I write this blog to say farewell to my readers, before London is buried under a giant cloud of volcanic ash. This, I imagine, is only a matter of time. With the volcano in Iceland still spewing debris into the air, and the enormous cloud heading our way, I have abandoned all hope of survival.
Future generations may dig me out one day, a relic of the past. I hope when the time comes, and the great cloud engulfs me, that I'm not doing anything humiliating. If I'm going to be dug up in the future and displayed as a museum exhibit, I don't want to be captured for eternity in the toilet. I'd like to be engaged in something more dignified. Reading maybe, or playing my playstation. That would be OK. Or a lover's embrace, perhaps. That wouldn't be such a bad way to go.
So, farewell. I will attempt to go out with dignity, like Pliny the Elder who died heroically, attempting to rescue people stranded at Herculaneum by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius which buried Pompeii. I didn't expect to end my days at the hands of an Icelandic volcano, but you can never really predict the future. Damn these Icelanders and their volcanos.