I want to die cheaply, but even medical colleges don’t want my body. By Jem Clarke
Anyone, sat like my mother in front of many hours of daytime TV, is eventually seduced by the repetitive, quick-fire adverts with their abiding message: 90 is the new 75.
Mother was the harshest critic of the old shopping channels. She once put toothpaste in the portable chocolate fountain I bought thanks to a TV ad.
















