Now, I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, but I need to share an important truth with you: we’re all going to die. I don’t mean this in a self-pitying emo-goth misery fest type of way. This is not a H.I.M song and nor is it teenage angst. This shit is real. What I’m referring to is the inescapable and terrifying fact that we’re all going to die THIS summer. Well, not me. But you will.


But you wont be alone. It’ll be a huge communal disaster film style death pact. You can try to run from it, but when you’re trapped inside the real life Final Destination and your time is running out, the only thing you can do is tell the girl at Strada you fancy her and hope she’ll hold your limp dying hand as you slip into the eternal black.

Aside from getting stabbed up in south London or accidentally booking a flight with Air France, it’s pretty much likely to be one of four ways that sends your pretty face to hell. It’s inevitable. I read it in London Lite. I read it in all the papers everywhere all the time. Death’s scythe is swinging ominously, and all that’s left to decide is which way you’re going to go.  What will you die of this summer? (Not that you’ll have much say in the matter).

Swine Flu

It was depressing to hear that Swedish king of twee Jens Lekman has been struck down by the piggy influenza affliction. I’m worried his simple fey immune system wont be able to cope. Only time will tell. But it’s not just the weak and mild mannered that are at risk.  As long ago as last week, the Guardian reported that the whole of August was shaping up to be annual death month. Way to ruin a summer, illness. Because the last few months have seen the media calm its hysteria levels to “really worried”, most of us had started assuming the worst had passed. Wrong. It’s only just begun.  This was confirmed to me on Thursday when the inevitable happened: the first person I know directly contracted the H1N1 virus. I’m pretty much sure we’re close to the end. This is just the calm before the storm. This is the moment just before we go through the Stargate into a future post apocalyptic world of pestilence, disease, war and famine. And not even copious gallons of Del Monte and Lemsip will save us.

Chance of death: Really high

Glamour factor: Really high, if you’re one of the first to die. But once the pandemic picks up, you’ll just be another rotten dead face in a mass grave. You’ve got to move fast on Swine Flu. Look what happened with AIDs.

Credit Crunch

Poverty is by no means a new thing. We’ve all been swerving homeless addicts in subways for years. But as much as we’re good people and are sympathetic to the plight of these unfortunate vagabonds, never have we considered that one day that might be us. We’ve got A-levels and employability and parents we could call who could stop it all. All great, right up until the whole financial world pretended to be Nick Leeson and destroyed chances of anyone having any money for the next ten years. Material possessions will be the first to go. As wrenching as it will be, we can all live without the new La Roux album and those sassy Timberland deck shoes (I know, I know, but there has to be casualties). But a roof and more than no meals a day? Yeah, you’re still going to need that shit. After you lose the only job you could find yourself serving shit coloured coffee at Starbucks (cos even multinationals aren’t immune). Next thing you know, you’re sleeping in the park and look like an extra in Maid Marian, have developed a cough so deep that you think you’ve swallowed a metal band, and those bruises the other homeless guys gave you wont heal. This is the end.

Chance of death: Really high

Glamour: Really low. Everyone hates a tramp, especially the Daily Mail, which will probably be the only paper left in circulation come the next election.


The BNP are going to need to chill out a little bit. All this hating on people has got me worried and I’m a white middle class heterosexual male, albeit one that carries around an immigrant surname. Thanks to the stupidity of bigoted logic, I’ve no idea whether that puts me at risk or not. The fact that lots of idiots seem to agree with BNP policy, and those that don’t can’t be arsed to vote, means Britain is dangerously close to being officially racist. If you’re a normal rational human being with absolutely no desire for flag waving or resurrecting a tenuous notion of nationality that never existed anyway, then you don’t need me to tell you how retarded this is. The problem is, normal rational human beings aren’t as common as they should be. It’s probably soon time to start rolling out the Kevlar vests and finding safety in numbers. And whatever you do, don’t venture north.

Chance of death: Really high

Glamour factor: Really high. If the press gets hold of your story (which they will), it’ll be all over the front pages for weeks. Make sure you’re young and talented and have a GCSE in Art. That will up the newsworthy potential.

Global Warming

Although I’ve not seen too may members of the Green Party crying about how terrible the weather is these last few weeks (they’ve been too busy topping up their tans), global warming is pretty bad news. It’s not all cider in the park, sexy cut offs and even ugly people looking attractive. Apparently some parts of the world will soon become so hot as to be inhabitable, like the tube and the upstairs of my house. And turning an electric fan on is only going to make things worse. Then there will be flooding and tornadoes and hurricanes, which sounds pretty cool, but terrible in reality because it knocks out your mobile signal and you’ve just sent a text to a person you fancy and are sweating on a reply. That’s enough to kill you alone (as Bob knows). This extreme weather will also be hard to bear because you’re living outdoors, suffering from pig flu and are a constant target for racially motivated attacks. It might just be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Chance of death: Really high

Glamour Factor: Low. Global warming is boring, unless we enter a 2012 scenario. But that wont happen this summer. Sunburn isn’t really news.