'I'm 97 Million Years Old you know, Dear!!'

'Or is it 96… I don’t think they've successfully melted my memory…’

Is This a vision of the future? Not nuclear-wasted or obliterated by foul virus, but cryonically preserved at the last moment - for future defrosting?

Robert Ettinger, pioneer of Cryonics - freezing people - died in July 2011 aged 92, and is now the 106th person to be preserved in liquid nitrogen. He joins a wife and two sons…

At least, he's the 106th of the Cryonics Institute       ( http://www.cryonics.org/ )
but Who Knows what devilish experiments are going on in dank cellars the world over…

(Above: labouring over Frankenstein).

I think it was Woody Allen, unleashed from his Bacofoil in ‘Sleeper’, who first brought this fascinating yet demented concept to my attention…

This is his Robot Butler disguise as he battles with an Instant Pudding wearing hat of the season. 
(For those who haven't seen Sleeper, he comes back 200 years after a routine operation in 1973 - it's a surprise to everyone).

The idea of cryonics, apparently, is that those who are considered dead now, may not really be dead according to the much cleverer medecine of the future. And naturally, people of the future will want to revive all these ice-bodies and welcome them into a brave new world.

WHY will they? This is, in fact, one of the FAQs of people pondering such preservation. BECAUSE, is the Frequent Answer, they’ll be under contract to!  (One thinks of those  reliable contracts to get your roof done or your phone provider changed...).

They will be members of a cryonics community of the future. As I understand it, this community will defrost you and welcome you as friend and family, and sort out your exciting new life with them!  There might even be a nice community gate... 

I suppose, if you are inclined towards a Further Adventure Beyond, this sounds almost encouraging.  And cryonics only costs around 28,000 dollars at the moment, so Hurry while Stocks last!  (nitrogen, jymjams, Kendal Mint Cake).

I may have watched too many bleak futuristic films, but I can’t help envisaging evil robots and acid rains and lab-humans, rather than kind, beaming people who will merrily cure one's impetigo… 

There's a sinister Roald Dahl Tale of the Unexpected  called "William and Mary", where the domineering husband is returned as An Eye - probably not quite what he'd had in mind - and his wife looks forward to puffing endless forbidden cigarettes at him while knocking back endless forbidden drinks... 

I bet cryonics communities don't warn you about that do they?

Have You Seen This Tortoise?

We were rolling merrily along a quiet country road, fresh from the rubbish tip, when I spotted this German-Helmet-on-Legs paused mid-amble and mid-tarmac.

With lightning reactions and superb control, I missed him by an inch. (Fortunately, we were at reasonable speed – the extortionate fine we once got copped for, worked)!

The tortoise had come to a halt in prime splat area, so George ran back to rescue him. As soon as George picked him up, the brave little specimen retaliated by peeing vigorously down his leg. Amazing how much liquid can come out of such a tiny little tum. Luckily, George’s reactions are also pretty lightning when his trousers are at risk; the road bore the brunt.

Once deposited on the other side Tarquin (it suited him), retreated under his German Helmet. He was unscathed physically, thank heavens - Lord knows how we’d have dealt with a half-mangled tortoise. It’s bad enough when you accidentally step on a snail - heavily, but not quite heavily enough, so you have to resort to mercy-bricking. Don’t you? Ghastly, but better than their further suffering, surely. I once employed the tactic with a badly cat-gored goldfish, and George has never quite adjusted to the fact that I could.

Anyway, Tarquin soon got bored with our gawping, unleashed his legs and set off in search of fun. He soon disappeared purposefully into the ditch.

But I started to worry – do tortoises live wild and free in France? Or had he been abandoned by grotty people like the dog in that TV advert: ‘Brutus loved his owners; he thought they loved him too…’ And they abandoned him by the ringroad – I’m frequently racked by this image at 3am.

Had Tarquin been abandoned? It’s hard to read the expression on a tortoise’s face.

George was sure he was a happy wild tortoise with a happy huge family. In fact, after a quick google, he was sure Tarquin was an exotic pond turtle from Greece. We sought advice from a friend who has a turtle with its own tiny pool in the living room. But as George and I still cannot agree on Tarquin’s markings, (George is Wrong), identifying him is tricky.

The important thing is, though, that our knowledgeable friend reassured us that tortoises/turtles do live joyously in the wild. So we were right not to retrieve him and bring him home to meet our rabbit and two savage cats, the hunting dog next door and the sudden plummet into the stream at the bottom of the garden .

I have to admit, though, I do wonder how he’s getting on…