If Rats Could Talk...

Scientists are liable to claim that all animal experiments they conduct are vital for medical research.

How then do they explain the recent news stories about their efforts to disprove life after death by killing rats?

And why would they choose experimental 'models' which they cannot even agree possess a 'consciousness' to vivisect for parapsychological experiments?

How can any creature which is seemingly without a consciousness be any help to medical science whatsoever in this field?

Furthermore why does medical science seek to disprove theories of the afterlife in the first place? To depress humans who like to hope there is something better than this cynical self-seeking world afterwards, to reward them for their long-suffering in putting up with this cynical self-seeking world for a lifetime?

In the event, all these experiments actually proved was that brain activity increases immediately prior to death, which they believe may give rise to 'hallucinations' of the genre reported by humans who have had near-death experiences of travelling at speed through long white tunnels, feelings of overwhelming love and their deceased loved ones waiting to greet them (the most typical type of NDE which has previously been shown to be common to all cultures irrespective of faith or belief systems, age or gender, medication or no medication). Though why they couldn't wire up a willing dying human volunteer to find this out and even ask some useful questions of, I do not understand. There are also many thousands of pre-existing accounts of not just near-death experiences but human beings who were resuscitated or say they 'chose' to come back after up to twenty minutes clinically dead.

I look forward to the rat seance where we get to hear the sequel of this research.

Some metaphysical medical experiments impress me. Such as the one where a Christian group prayed nightly for everyone in one hospital wing but not another hospital wing for a month. So great were the recovery results in the first wing, that they were forced to revise their conscience and start praying for all patients, thus ending the experiment.

Another interesting test was a hospital where terminally-ill patients agreed to be weighed shortly before death and immediately afterwards to establish how much a soul might weigh. 21 grams apparently.

But then they didn't weigh a scientist...

Life, Death and Duck Lips

With thanks to my dear friend Terry Sycamore for realising my cartoon idea of the eternal female dilemma! Luckily my lips are probably my best feature so that's one cosmetic procedure I'll never be tempted by. I like to hope I'll never be tempted by any of the others either, but that obviously depends on the number of panic attacks which strike as I grow older commensurate to the level of disposable income I have to do something about them.

A friend recently revealed that he was obssessed with thoughts of death and how long he had left. I told him I didn't give a damn about dying, it was the ageing bit that terrified the life out of me! Wafting around on a cloud and strumming a golden harp away from this rotten world - easy peasy, though it would be kind of fun to swoop down to play the odd trick on my friends and family left behind. And yes, I've got my heart set on angelhood. The long flowing locks, the classy grecian robes, the stunning wings and halo - sold to the girl who's still got a lot of apprenticing to do to earn her wings!

I blame all these people who keep buying me angels ever since I made the mistake of saying that I quite liked them in my early 20s. My house is now a veritable shrine to them (and faeries, many gift buyers seemingly unaware of the difference). Then again I'd had twelve years of dolphins prior to that having stated I liked dolphins when I was about nine. Another friend has a house devoted to pigs and frogs as a result of a similar chance pre-birthday comment.

To get back to the subject of ageing, on the one hand ageism in the workplace is apparently as rife as ever with thousands of highly qualified and experienced 50-somethings on the scrapheap, despite Labour's attempt at anti-ageism legislation. Meantime it remains government policy that we younger generation prepare ourselves for having to work well past the current retirement age with no sense of irony. Then there's the scientists promising that soon we will all live to 120 - whoopee doo! Well that's one way to get your own back - to claim your pension for 15 years longer than you earned it for! Plus I've committed the cardinal social security faut pas of having no children to support me in old age, albeit conversely earning a big gold star on the environmental front, having children being the most planet-polluting activity one can indulge in.

Life - it's a funny old game.

By the way, has anyone else noticed how David Cameron seems to be turning into Piers Morgan? Or do they just share the same Botox practitioner?