A lot of people have bucket lists - all the things they still want to do before they die. I don't have much of a bucket list, but there are plenty of things I DON'T want to do before I die. For instance:
- Have a guided tour. I want to explore things on my own, without someone bombarding me with (probably incorrect) information.
- Take a cruise. I've no wish to mingle with thousands of other people in the middle of the Mediterranean.
- Go camping. I went to a Scout camp when I was 18. It was dreadful - wet and muddy and utterly primitive.
- Try bungee-jumping. I'd doubtless be the one person in 10,000 who plummeted to my doom.
- Play bingo. How can anyone enjoy such a mindless activity - even if you're a witless octagenarian?
- Become a landlord. I've no desire to profit from other people's desperate need for a home.
- Keep a pet. It would need too much care and attention. I love cats - as long as they're not mine.
- Own a motorbike. Far too dangerous. I can see myself colliding with a lorry all too easily.
- Dye my hair. I like my natural colour. And anyway, hair-dyeing is horrendously expensive.
- Go bald. I don't find bare scalps in any way attractive. I'd have to get myself a wig.
- Get a tattoo. I like my skin just as it is, without artificial add-ons. Especially ones I might later regret.
- Run a marathon. No way would I put myself through 26 miles of physical torture and exhaustion.
- Have plastic surgery. My body is just fine, wrinkles and all. And it could all go horribly wrong.
- Go to prison. Imprisonment sounds like hell. I would never survive the degradation and humiliation.
- Wear stiletto heels. Luckily I'm not expected to.
Pic: Hattie demanded a selfie, so she could see for herself how hideously ugly or drop-dead gorgeous I really am
