We were definitely living the science fiction dream by this point. Isaac ruddy Asimov must have been in his eye holes! Satellites and rockets were blasting off all over the place. Astronauts were up in orbit doing space walks and eating protein pills in zero gravity, and down on Earth they had started broadcasting television in colour, doing heart transplants, and having their first go at cryonics.
Yes, Cryonics! That’s where you deep freeze someone who has just died, with the hope that in the future you will be able to thaw them out, bring them back to life, and cure them of the ruddy thing that killed them in the first place. In 1967 they froze a professor, called Dr James Bedford. They froze him solid within minutes of his drawing his last breath, and he is still frozen to this day, waiting for them to find a cure for malignant kidneys. When they do, they will slowly warm him up, sort his kidneys out, and (so the theory goes) he will be as right as rain. But he’ll still be an old codger who looks about 73, and it won’t be long before something else goes.
Also, he will have been having a lovely time on the other side for the past 47 years, and I shouldn’t think he will be very happy about the prospect of getting back into that clapped out old body that he left behind all that time ago. I certainly wouldn’t want to be dragged back to the realm of the living because they had found a cure for my malignant tubes, so thank the good lord that I was ruddy well cremated, and my ashes lay forgotten and ignored in the store room at the crematorium. It’ll be a good while before science finds a way to piece all my mortal remains back together and bring them back to life, I can tell you.
And what if they did eh? Just say that they did somehow manage to reconstruct me, or for the sake of argument, that they hadn’t cremated me, but done a James Bedford on me and I was perfectly preserved. When they brought me back to life, would all my personality and memories and things be tied up in my re-animated brain? Of course they ruddy wouldn’t. That was just the physical expression of them while I was in the realm of the living. Unless I decided to go back into that body, it wouldn’t be able to do much. The lights might go on, but there would be nobody home. In my opinion, it’s a waste of electricity keeping them freezers switched on. They would be better off using them to make ice cream for the kiddies, spreading a little happiness in the world, rather than filling them up with ruddy cadavers.
Some people think that Walt Disney is held in cryogenic suspension somewhere. That is actually a myth. They have got mixed up with Walt Diddley, brother of the rock and roll legend Bo Diddley. He was frozen shortly after his death in the hope that scientists would some day find a cure for getting really drunk and choking on your own vomit. Unfortunately he accidentally got thawed out in 1982, when his wife Dee Dee Diddley blew the main fuse in their Louisiana home, whilst running an electric iron and a colour television from the same socket. She was livid. Not only did she lose that chance of bringing her husband back, she had to throw out a family size pack of value burgers, 28 fish fingers and four filleted chicken breasts in golden breadcrumbs.
Auntie Doris’s top pop pick of 1967: “Puppet on a String” by Sandy Shaw. Those were the days when we always did well in the Eurovision Song Contest. The first thing Sandy did when she won was go out and buy herself a decent pair of shoes.