Jessica McFarland

So. As I write this, Eyjafjallajokull (no, I can’t pronounce that, yes, I had to look it up) is spewing a cloud of ash into the sky which is grounding all planes in Northern Europe. As I didn’t have any holiday plans and don’t each much exotic fruit, this has hardly affected my life at all.

However, a friend of mine has suggested that this somehow means that the world is ending, soon. I’m not sure if he meant in a sort of Psalm 46 hills-carried-into-the-midst-of-the-sea sort of deal, or just the collapse of Western Civilisation. Either way, it’s clearly an overreaction to being stuck abroad for an extra week or couple of years or whatever. The world’s not coming to an end. I can’t believe that Iceland could screw the rest of us over so badly.

But this did get me thinking. The world is going to end eventually, and my friend could still be correct, I mean, nuclear disarmament talks could break down or there could be a big famine or maybe even daleks. It could be soon. And here’s me, wanting to write a blog for ages. Wouldn’t I be disappointed if England was vaporised by a rogue solar flare before I shared with the world my random thoughts about life, love, literature, London, and laundry? (I suck at ironing, apparently; my clothes keep mysteriously getting destroyed.)

Yes, yes I would be disappointed. That is my answer. So I’m going to write about these things, until I run out of things, or until the apocalypse gets here. Any day now. Maybe.