In olden days, if you wanted the latest statistical assessment based on predictive medical science as to how long you’d got left to live, there wasn’t any point logging on to http//:www.deathclock.com. A blank screen would have just flashed the obvious:
Nasty, Short and Brutish.
Nowadays, you’ll be asked for a few more variables. Type in your age, your sex, whether or not you smoke, how fat you are and then marvel as the screen turns into a giant ‘death clock’ with the seconds ticking down to the exact moment of your immanent decay. ‘Tuesday 4th May 2048’ you say to your self, ‘Mmm. Perhaps I’ll stay in bed.’
Relatively useless information by itself, but what about this for an explosive combination: an email posted with the help of http//:www.futureme.org will be delivered to a future you at the precise moment of your choosing. Use both sites together and you’ve got handy tips dripping into your inbox with the military precision of a U.S. guided missile (i.e. when your not dead).
Call it friendly fire, but lets face it, age fogs the mind so make the future a better place and share your insights with your self – the kind of thing that you only know when you’re young and sexy. It’s like teenage me sending early-thirties me an email reminding me leather pants are shit. Excellent advice that could have saved me looking tragic.
Like a message in a bottle cast into the ocean of time, this one’s due to wash up on my shoreline about the same time as Alzheimer’s.
Dear Old Me,
You’re probably wondering whether or not you were wearing a hat or wishing that you’d had more sex. In answer to both questions: no you weren’t and believe me I tried. Quick bit of advice: don’t go into town on a Saturday. That’s for young people in a rush who work in the week and can’t get in any other time. You’ll just clog up the pavements.
Early thirties me
Be in touch soon. (Cue: evil laugh to fade…)