Everything Before the Bus Gets Me

Life is short, everyone knows it, nobody acts on it. The correct move is to quit the job, hand back the keys, buy some aging hippie van, drive it through the Australian outback, and swerve around a few koalas. Nobody does this. Instead I’m writing everything down—all the things I still intend to do before a VW bus finally collects me.

Surf. Open my own agency in London. Mix milk with beer just to know what happens. Kiss Keira Knightley—ideally more than once, ideally not just on the cheek. Write a book. See the world from a plane window on a clear day. Get roasted on The Simpsons, which means I’d have to become worth roasting. Hand a stranger on the street a literal million in cash and watch his face change. Appear in a film with Johnny Depp. Conquer a small country. Buy MTV and program it to play The Ting Tings all day—actually this one is practical and I don’t know why it hasn’t happened. Own a monkey butler. Have sex with Siamese twins—or, failing that, with the Olsens tied together at the wrist. Visit Tokyo. Time travel. Sexy female karate bodyguards. Piss off the summit of the highest mountain on earth.

And then—just once—shut up completely. No posts, no opinions, no lists. Pure silence. Still working on that one.