(1)I’m 90 years old. The advantage of being 90 is that you can look forward to death. The world is getting noisier, sexier and more horrible by the minute, but at least I can comfort myself with the fact that the end is in sight. Or so I thought. Imagine my anger when I opened the newspaper and discovered they were going to make us live till 130. When you’re 60 or 70 the thought of death crosses your mind like a shadow. It disturbs you, it worries you. But by the time you reach my age you hope for it.(2)My body is dying on me. It’s horrible. You start to smell―the smell of death―and you can do nothing about it. I can no longer see properly. You go deaf, and people talk to you as if you’re a child. Your legs give up on you. Nowadays I spend so much time working out how to avoid making the trip downstairs more than once a day. When I do get out, I can barely walk more than a few yards―and according to those who know me, I’m lucky in good shape for my 90 years.(3)Ah, but the world would be so much wiser, some pe