The death of Dave Freeman, co-creator of the 100 Things To Do Before You Die sub-genre of macho, narcissistic, consumerist one-upmanship has provoked a degree of chin-stroking in the media, partly because he was good enough to croak in August, but also thanks to the fact that Freeman only managed to tick about half of his self-selected boxes before he embarked on his final awfully big adventure
I've never really had such a list, but I've been lucky enough to translate a few childhood that-looks-funs (ridden an elephant, been on Mastermind, visited Niagara Falls and the Pyramids) to reality. Meanwhile others will forever remain unfulfilled: unless bubonic plague tears a swathe through the ranks of British Equity, I don't reckon I'm ever going to be the next Dr Who.
But if we're really in pub boast mode (and that's what Freeman's big idea was, at heart), I suppose I ought to be bragging about the things I've done that no-one will ever do again: I saw Bill Hicks and Bo Diddley and Ian Dury in the flesh; I've been told off by a Yugoslavian policeman; and I was also privileged to attend one of the last West End performances of Which Witch, the Norwegian opera-musical that had the rare distinction of extending its run to accommodate the johnny-come-latelies who wanted to see if it was as eye-poppingly dire as everyone was saying. (It was, and then some).
So, over to you. Dreams fulfilled, frustrated, put on hold until retirement; and the things you know you'll never do. Line on the left, one cross each...